“I can be happy any, where, if only my husband and children are left.  My husband, so generous, so noble-minded—­my children, so innocent, so loving.”

Instantly the fountain of tears were closed.  These unselfish words, spoken in her own heart, checked the briny current.  Not for an instant did Mrs. Markland seek to deceive herself or hearken to the suggestion that it was but a passing state in the partner of her life.  She knew too well the origin of his disquietude to hope for its removal.  In a little while, she descended and joined her family in the sitting-room, where the soft astral diffused its pleasant light, and greeted her sober-minded husband with loving smiles and cheerful words.  And he was deceived.  Not for an instant imagined he, after looking upon her face, that she had passed through a painful, though brief conflict, and was now possessed of a brave heart for any change that might come.  But he had not thought of leaving Woodbine Lodge.  Far distant was this from his imagination.  True—­but Agnes looked with a quick intuition from cause to effect.  The elements of happiness no longer existed here for her husband; or, if they did exist, he had not the skill to find them, and the end would be a searching elsewhere for the desired possession.

“You did not answer my question, Agnes,” said Mr. Markland, after the children had retired for the evening, and they were again alone.

“What question?” inquired Mrs. Markland; and, as she lifted her eyes, he saw that they were dim with tears.

“What troubles you, dear?” he asked, tenderly.

Mrs. Markland forced a smile, as she replied, “Why should I be troubled?  Have I not every good gift the heart can desire?”

“And yet, Agnes, your eyes are full of tears.”

“Are they?” A light shone through their watery vail.  “Only an April shadow, Edward, that is quickly lost in April sunshine.  But your question is not so easily answered.”

“I ought to be perfectly happy here; nothing seems wanting.  Yet my spirit is like a aged bird that flutters against its prison-bars.”

“Oh, no, Edward; not so bad as that,” replied Mrs. Markland.  “You speak in hyperbole.  This lovely place, which everywhere shows the impress of your hand, is not a prison.  Call it rather, a paradise.”

“A paradise I sought to make it.  But I am content no longer to be an idle lingerer among its pleasant groves; for I have ceased to feel the inspiration of its loveliness.”

Mrs. Markland made no answer.  After a silence of some minutes, her husband said, with a slight hesitation in his voice, as if uncertain as to the effect of his words—­

“I have for some time felt a strong desire to visit Europe.”

The colour receded from Mrs. Markland’s face; and there was a look in her eyes that her husband did not quite understand, as they rested steadily in his.

“I have the means and the leisure,” he added, “and the tour would not only be one of pleasure, but profit.”