Mistress Ulrica, who was suddenly changed from a tigress into a lamb, assured her husband that she was innocent; that she had not even entertained a guilty thought.  But as she humbled herself, Mr. Fabian’s wrath increased, and astonished that he had not long before discovered this method of taming his wife, he played the tyrant con amore.  He accused his wife of so many things, that she, humiliated and crushed, fell on her knees before him, and entreated him to restrain his rage until he had ample proofs of her guilt.  This boon Mr. Fabian H——­ finally condescendingly granted, and like an indulgent pascha, entreated by his favorite slave, he at length permitted her to slumber at his side.

This entire change of government was effected in the short space of one hour.

The sun was high in the heavens when Mistress Ulrica awoke.  At first she could not distinctly remember the drama which had been performed the preceding night; but when all the events were brought clear to her mind, she sighed deeply.  Her destiny was entirely changed; but after a few moments’ reflection, she determined to submit to her fate, and become the one who should obey, not command.

While she was meditating in what manner she should refute the charges brought against her by her husband, she was interrupted by a truly soft and persuasive voice, which said:—­

“Sweet Ulgenie, dearest wife, can your heart be touched?  I dreamed last night that I might dare approach it.”

“Oh, so you have noticed me,” said Mrs. Ulrica, immediately assuming her former authority, when she found herself thus entreated.  “Have you slept out your debauch?”

“Was I—­is it possible that I was inebriated?  I have quite forgotten what happened last night.”

“You fool, when were you able to remember anything unless I reminded you?”

The perusal of a continuance of this scene will scarcely repay our readers.  Suffice it to say that Mr. Fabian’s reign of one hour remained thereafter a legend only.  Like all other unsuccessful revolutions, it was followed by a government still more exacting and severe.

CHAPTER XIX.

CARL.

Winter had departed.  Ragnar, the bold seaman, had left his home, and his ship was ploughing the broad ocean.  The grass in the valley waved gracefully in the light winds of spring.  The children once more launched their miniature boats, and the occupants of the cottage all labored for the good of the little commonwealth.

But there was one of the family who could not mingle in their labors, and who sat quietly in his corner, gazing cheerfully upon the operations of the others.  It was Carl.

During the winter Carl had been confined to his bed, but at the present time he occupied his father’s arm-chair, which the old man had relinquished to him.  He usually sat in a corner near Magde’s spinning wheel and his father’s bed-room door.