How much that weak, tempted, suffering man, just trembling on the brink of destruction, needed a true-hearted, forbearing, long-suffering wife!  Such a one might—­yes, would—­have saved him.  By the strong cords of love she would have held him to her side.

Several times Ellis tried to interest Cara in conversation; but to every remark she replied only in monosyllables.  In fact she was angry with him, and, not feeling kindly, she would not speak kindly.  All day she had suffered deeply on his account.  A thousand fears had harassed her mind.  She had even repented of her unkindness towards him, and resolved to be more forbearing in the future.  For more than an hour she kept the table waiting at dinner time, and was so troubled at his absence, that she felt no inclination to touch food.

“I’m afraid I am not patient enough with him,” she sighed, as better feelings warmed in her heart.  “I was always a little irritable.  But I will try to do better.  If he were not so close about money, I could be more patient.”

While such thoughts were passing through the mind of Mrs. Ellis, a particular friend, named Mrs. Claxton, called to see her.

“Why, bless me, Cara! what’s the matter?” exclaimed this lady, as she took the hand of Mrs. Ellis.  “You look dreadful.  Haven’t been sick, I hope?”

“No, not sick in body,” was replied.

“Sick in mind.  The worst kind of sickness.  No serious trouble, I hope?”

There was a free, off-hand, yet insinuating manner about Mrs. Claxton, that, while it won the confidence of a certain class of minds, repulsed others.  Mrs. Ellis, who had no great skill in reading character, belonged to the former class; and Mrs. Claxton was, therefore as just said, a particular friend, and in a certain sense a confidante.

“The old trouble,” replied Mrs. Ellis to the closing question of her friend.

“With your husband?”

“Yes.  He pinches me in money matters so closely, and grumbles so eternally at what he calls my extravagance, that I’m out of all patience.  Last evening, just as I was about telling him that he must give me new parlour carpets, he, divining, I verily believe, my thoughts, cut off every thing, by saying, in a voice as solemn as the grave—­’Cara, I would like to have a little plain talk with you about my affairs.’  I flared right up.  I couldn’t have helped it, if I’d died for it the next minute.”

“Well; what then?”

“Oh! the old story.  Of course he got angry, and went off like a streak of lightning.  I cried half the evening, and then went to bed.  I don’t know how late it was when he came home.  This morning, when I got up, he was sleeping as heavy as a log.  It was near ten o’clock when I heard him moving about in our chamber, but I did not go in.  He had got himself into a huff, and I was determined to let him get himself out of it.  Just as I supposed he would come into the nursery, where I was sitting with the children, awaiting his lordship’s pleasure to appear for breakfast, he opens the door into the passage, and walks himself off.”