" I do not mean that, Alice,"  I cried.  " You
look ill and pale.  Believe me, I was only
jesting."

  " I can bear it, Francis. There is nothing
on this earth that cannot be borne—in one
way or other."

  She turned and left the room, quietly and
sadly.  The sunshine faded just then, and
only a white, pale light came through the
window.  I so connected it with her sorrow,
that to this day I can never see the golden
radiance come and go across my path, without
the same sharp, knife-like pang that
I felt then, as the door closed behind her.

CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

  ALICE became weaker and grew really ill.
A tour on the continent was strongly recommended
by the doctors as the likeliest means
of restoration.  It was impossible for me
to go; but some friends of ours, one Mr.
and Mrs. Warrener, with a young daughter,
were going to Italy for six months, and it
was arranged that Alice should accompany
them.

  They remained abroad, nine months instead
of six.  People wondered and joked about my
wife's deserting me; but I only laughed, and
said, I should soon go after her if she remained
away much longer; and they thought
we were still a model couple.  But, had they
seen me sitting in my office, at night, over
Alice's letters from abroad, they would have
known what a gulf had opened between us
two.  I read those letters over and over again,
with aching throbs going through and through
my heart, at every word.  They were full of incident
and interest, and people called them
beautiful, who had not seen the mixture of
womanly passion and childlike playfulness in
her character that I had seen, and which I was
to see no more.

  At last she returned.  I came home tired
enough, one evening, to find a letter lying on
my table, informing me that she would cross
to Dover on the morrow.  I went down to
Dover to meet her.  Our estrangement had
worn deep into my heart.  She had loved me
once; she should love me again!

  I was worn, haggard.  I took a bath and
made a careful toilet after my hurried journey.
As I was taking my last look in the
glass, the hotel-waiter came to tell me they
had arrived.

  I followed him, more nervous than I had
ever been before in my life.  Warrener
grasped my hands as I opened the door, and
Mrs. Warrener—bless her kind heart!—burst
out crying.

  " Oh, my dear Frank! I am so glad to see
you.  And we have brought you your Alice
home, so well."

  Next moment she entered, a little King
Charles's spaniel frisking about her feet.  I
had her in my arms at once, but it was not
until she kissed me that I knew how cold and
pale she was.

  "Alice, are you ill? "  I asked, holding her
away from me, and looking into her face.

  Her eyes met mine, but their old light was
quite gone.

  " Not in the least ill, Frank. " she said quietly.
"But you must remember I have not seen
you for nine months and you startled me a
little."

  My household fairy had fled, and I could
only mourn that I should never look upon
her sweet, young face again.  It was another
Alice, this.  I had slain my own Alice, and
nothing could reanimate her.

  I was like one in a dream all through the
day; and, when we came home, I could not
wake.  I had made many changes in the
house, and all for her.  I took her through
the rooms on the day after our return, and
showed her the improvements.  She was
pleased with the furniture; she admired the
pictures and the conservatory; and seemed
delighted with the little gem of a boudoir
which I had pleased myself by designing
expressly for her.  She thanked me, too.
No longer ago than a year, she would have
danced through the rooms, uttering a thousand
pretty little exclamations of wonder and
delight, and I should have been smothered
with kisses, and called a " dear old bear, " or
some such fit name at the end; all of which
would have been very silly, but also very
delightful.

  I think I bore it for a month; but one
morning, as I sat at my solitary breakfast—
for Alice took that meal in her room now—
the bitter sense of wrong and unhappiness
and desertion came over me so strongly that
I went up to her room.

  "Are you busy? " I asked, as she laid
down her pen and looked around.

  "Not too busy to talk to you," she said.

  "Alice, how long are we to live this life?"

  She changed colour.

  "What Iife, Frank?"

"The one we are living now.  It is not the
happy, loving life we used to live.  You are
not mine as entirely and lovingly as you
once were."

  " I know it. "  And she sighed and looked
drearily at me.

  " Why cannot the old days come back
again.  If I made a terrible mistake, can you
never forgive it?  I thought it was foolish
for us to love each other as we did— at least,
to show it as we did— but I have found now,
that love is earth's only true wisdom."

  She smiled sadly.

  " Give me back that love, Alice, which I
would not have.  Oh, give me back the lost
sunshine."

  I rose from my seat and stood beside her,
but she drew back and shook her head.

  "Frank, don't ask me for that."

  "I shall know how to value it now, Alice."

  " That may be; but I have it not to give
you, my poor Frank."

I clasped her to my heart.  The passion in