“Edward!” It was the low voice of his wife, and the soft touch of her hand, that startled the dreaming enthusiast from visions of wealth and power that dazzled him with their brilliancy.

“Come, Edward, it is growing late,” said his wife.

“How late?” he replied, looking up from the paper he had covered with various memoranda, and clusters of figures.

“It is past eleven o’clock.”

“That cannot be, Agnes.  It is only a short time since I left the table.

“Full three hours.  All have retired and are sleeping.  Ah, my husband!  I do not like this new direction your thoughts are taking.  To me, there is in it a prophecy of evil to us all.”

“A mere superstitious impression, Agnes dear:  nothing more, you may depend upon it.  I am in the vigour of manhood.  My mind is yet clear, strong, and suggestive—­and my reason, I hope, more closely discriminating, as every man’s should be with each added year of his life.  Shall I let all these powers slumber in disgraceful inactivity!  No, Agnes, it cannot, must not be.”

Mr. Markland spoke with a fervid enthusiasm, that silenced his wife—­confusing her thoughts, but in no way inspiring her with confidence.  Hitherto, he had felt desirous of concealing from her the fact that he was really entering into new business responsibilities; but now, in his confident anticipations of success, he divulged a portion of the enlarged range of operations in which he was to be an active co-worker.

“We have enough, Edward,” was the almost mournfully-uttered reply of Mrs. Markland—­“why, then, involve yourself in business cares?  Large transactions like those bring anxious days and wakeful nights.  They are connected with trouble, fatigue, disappointment, and, Edward! sometimes ruin!”

Very impressively were the last words spoken; but Mr. Markland answered almost lightly—­

“None of your imagined drawbacks have any terror for me, Agnes.  As for the ruin, I shall take good care not to invite that by any large risks or imprudent speculations.  There are few dangers for wise and prudent men, in any business.  It is the blind who fall into the ditch—­the reckless who stumble.  You may be very certain that your husband will not shut his eyes in walking along new paths, nor attempt the navigation of unaccustomed seas without the most reliable charts.”

To this, Mrs. Markland could answer nothing.  But his words gave her no stronger confidence in the successful result of his schemes; for well assured was she, in her perceptive Christian philosophy, that man’s success in any pursuit was no accidental thing, nor always dependent on his own prudence; the ends he had in view oftener determining the result, than any merit or defect in the means employed.  So, the weight of concern which this new direction of her husband’s active purpose had laid upon her heart, was in no way lightened by his confident assurances.