For a while after Mr. Bain’s return, his wife talked much, but incoherently; then she became quiet.  But her fever remained high, and inflammation tended strongly towards the brain.  He was sitting by the bedside about ten o’clock, alone with her, when she began to talk in her wandering way again; but her words were distinct and coherent.

“I tried to do it right,” said she, sadly; “but my head ached so that I did not know what I was doing.  Ah me!  I never please him now in any thing.  I wish I could always look pleasant—­cheerful.  But I can’t.  Well! well! it won’t last for ever.  I never feel well—­never—­never—­never!  And I’m so faint and weak in the morning!  But he has no patience with me. He doesn’t know what it is to feel sick.  Ah me!”

And her voice sighed itself away into silence.

With what a rebuking force did these words fall upon the ears of Mr. Bain!  He saw himself in a new light.  He was the domestic tyrant, and not the kind and thoughtful husband.

A few days, and Mrs. Bain was moving about her house and among her children once more, pale as a shadow, and with lines of pain upon her fore-head.  How differently was she now treated by her husband!  With what considerate tenderness he regarded her!  But, alas! he saw his error too late!  The gentle, loving creature, who had come to his side ten years before, was not much longer to remain with him.  A few brief summers came and went, and then her frail body was laid amid the clods of the valley.

Alas! how many, like Mrs. Bain, have thus passed away, who, if truly loved and cared for, would have been the light of now darkened hearths, and the blessing and joy of now motherless children and bereaved husbands!

THE FIRST AND LAST QUARREL.

“IF I am his wife, I am not his slave!” said young Mrs. Huntley, indignantly.  “It was more than he dared do a month ago.”

“If you love me, Esther, don’t talk in this way,” said Mrs. Carlisle.

“Am I his slave aunt?” and the young bride drew herself up, while her eyes flashed.

“No, Esther, you are his wife.”

“To be loved, and not commanded!  That is the difference, and he has got to learn it.”

“Were Edward to see and hear you now, do you think your words, manner, and expression would inspire him with any new affection for you?”

“I have nothing to do with that.  I only express a just indignation, and that is a right I did not alienate when I consented to become his wife.”

“You are a silly girl, Esther,” said Mrs. Carlisle, “and I am afraid will pay dear for your folly.  Edward has faults, and so have you.  If you understood the duties and responsibilities of your position, and felt the true force of your marriage vows, you would seek to bend into better forms the crooked branches of your husband’s hereditary temper, rather than commit an irreparable injury by roughly breaking them.  I was not pleased with Edward’s manner of speaking; but I must admit that he had provocation:  that you were first, and, therefore, most to blame.”