“Mrs. Ford.  She spent an hour with me this evening.”

“And you believe her, and think that she has all the facts of the case?”

“I do.  She is a christian woman, and leads a blameless life.”

Mr. Deane felt the peaceful state he had that evening gained, fast leaving him, and he sought his bed, hoping to lose in sleep the inharmony that swept over him.  He did not, however, and morning found him unrefreshed and weak, the mind restless, seeking for something which it could not grasp, though within its reach.

“I think I will not go to the office to-day,” said he, after trying to swallow a little breakfast.

“If you are too ill to work, you surely need a doctor.  I shall send for Dr. Barrows when Charley goes to school,” said his wife.

“Do no such thing.  I am not sick.  I only need rest.”

“You would have your own way, Howard, if you were dying; but I really think you do look ill, and ought to have something done.”

That “something” she could not do.  She could not reach the mind which needed ministering to, because she had kept her own so impoverished.

Reader, did you ever have one attempt to do anything for you, and while the labor was being performed, have your nerves strained to their highest tension, and the assistance thus kindly and obligingly rendered, wearying you far more than to have done all yourself?  Such was somewhat the way in which Mrs. Deane administered to her husband’s needs that day.  She made him realize every step she took.  She called him a hundred times from his meditations into her sphere of thought, concerning some petty detail or minor question.  She professed to take care of him, but kept him ever caring for her.

“Howard, these blinds need new fastenings.  Howard, the children’s shoes are wearing out.  Howard, I wonder if my new dress will fit; I fear it’s spoiled.  Howard, I must have fifty dollars to get the children’s hats and dresses for next month, I’m behind-hand now.  Now you are at home, do you suppose you could help me arrange some magazines I want bound?”

“I’m tired to death.  I’ve been up and down stairs twenty times, at least, this morning,” she said, as she handed him some drink which he asked to have brought up when convenient.  All these questions, suggestions and requests added to his weakness, so that by night, he concluded he would have been far better off at his office.

When night came Mrs. Deane was too weary to bathe his aching head.  They occupied, as they should not, the same room, and exhausted each other, and arose in the same debilitated state in the morning.

“Yesterday was a most fatiguing day to me,” said his wife.  “Are you well enough to go to the office, to-day, Howard?” He thought he was, and thanked heaven that he had strength enough to get there.