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to himself, and the sadness that seemed settled on her spirits. Where now was the frank and cordial manner with which she used to welcome him back--the glad and joyous countenance--the gay and tender voice--the elastic step--the kind vigilance and activity--the alacrity for every duty which had made his home so happy, his wife so dear? And his children! Ah, there was the keenest pang! there was the strangest effect of Mary's altered disposition! Surely she must be sick--some insidious disease was preying on her health and spirits--change of air and scene would certainly prove beneficial. The quiet and monotony of home had become wearisome. It was the constant activity of his life, the variety of places to which his business called him, that doubtless had preserved his health and spirits. The last excursion Mary had made, he now recollected, had had a delightfully animating effect, and as she observed at the time, had made home more agreeable to her. She was always delighted in accompanying him on his distant circuits. The court he was soon to attend was in a charming part of the country, where he had some kind friends, and though the autumn was far advanced, the season was still delightful for travelling, and the country still beautiful. He made his arrangements accordingly, and wishing to give Mary an agreeable surprise, did not tell her of his design until a day or two previous to setting out. Poor Mary, she looked any thing but pleased--she looked troubled, distressed, and after some hesitation said she felt no inclination to leave home--that having just hired a man servant she could not leave home. This objection was quickly overruled by Mrs. Murrary's offering to take charge of the family.
"But the children," said Mary, hesitatingly; "how can I leave them--I should be so anxious I could not enjoy myself."
She caught her husband's scrutinizing glance, and blushed--blushed all over--then got up and went to the window to hide the embarrassment her internal consciousness produced.
And has it come to this--the artless, the ingenuous Mary is guilty of equivocation. She is conscious of feelings which she wishes to conceal from her husband! Aye, of feelings she dare not acknowledge to herself!
How certain is the progression of evil--it is never stationary. One drop of poison can diffuse itself through the whole body, and destroy life itself. So can one vicious sentiment spread its deleterious and fatal influence through the whole moral system. How vigilantly then should the avenues of access be guarded, and the endeavour be, to keep the heart with all diligence, since out of it are the issues of life!
Mr. Murray checked the harsh reply he was about to make. He did not say, as his feelings impelled him to say, "talk not of anxiety about children whom you so sadly neglect." No, he did not speak, but he deeply felt it. He was silent until he had mastered his angry emotion, and then mildly, but firmly, said--"Mary, I am persuaded a change of scene will do you good. I insist on your making the experiment, and shall expect you to be in readiness the day after to-morrow."
she did no reply, and he left the room, again to wander forth and think his own sad thoughts--to wrestle with doubts that would intrude themselves, and to ponder on the best method of restoring his dear Mary to her former self, and of recovering his own peace of mind. Arduous and futile task! Unknown to himself he had been swayed in his scheme of removing her from home, by the suspicions which he believed he had crushed--but they lurked in his bosom, and prompted the wish of separating her from Charles, and in spite of his endeavours to behave with unchanged frankness to his friend, he had thrown a reserve into his manner which had betrayed to that interested observer the real state of his feelings. Perhaps it was the natural effect of such a discovery, and not any peculiar malignancy of disposition in Charles, to make him feel irritated and angry at the suspected jealousy of his friend, and feelings akin to revenge sprung up in his breast. The gratitude and affection he had felt for years was changed into the gall of bitterness. It is no less true that we hate those whom we injure, than that we love those whom we benefit--for such are the natural fruits of the malignant or benevolent dispositions of the heart. In the present case this new born malevolence prompted Charles to add injury to injury, and when he met Mary, soon after her husband had left her, and learned the project that had been formed, of carrying her from home, he would have given vent to his evil passion had he not feared he might thus frustrate his own wishes. The words had almost escaped him--"Pho! Mary, he is only jealous." Had he done so, he would have torn the bandage off her eyes, and she would have discovered it was not a brother's love he felt, nor a sister's affection she indulged. His effort had been to blindfold her as to this dangerous truth. Hitherto he had succeeded--while too effectually he had chilled her maternal and conjugal affections.
"Why do you not refuse at once? you are too tame and yielding. Come, my sister, summon up courage, and tell this lordly husband of yours that you are a free agent--show a little proper spirit and you will soon see the tables reversed, and instead of obeying you will be obeyed."
Mary shook her head.
"It is too late to learn that lesson, even had I the disposition to do so. No, Charles, I am too feeble to stand alone, I need support, and must cling to that support, or perish."
"Oh, Mary, cling then to your brother." He pressed the hand he held in his, and would have drawn her to him, had she not shrunk from his arm and snatched away her hand.
"Do not talk thus--I entreat you do not. You known not how unhappy you make me. It is my duty to obey my husband."
"Your duty--yes, your duty, but not your pleasure--and is inclination never to be followed? This, indeed, is slavery. Tell him at once, Mary, that you will not take this journey."
"I cannot--indeed I cannot, Charles--so let me go and prepare to obey my husband."
"Detestable phrase," muttered Charles--but seeing her resolute he no longer detained her.
Mary retired to her room, but instead of hurrying herself with preparations, she threw herself on her bed, and covering her head with a