Howard Deane was weary.  Life had not gone pleasantly with him, since we introduced him to the reader.  His business, so lucrative and once full of interest, demanding his closest attention, now seemed of no account.  Existence had become to him a round of duties mechanically performed.  The very air was leaden, and void of life.  He needed a revivifying influence, something to invigorate him.  His energies languished, and there seemed no one to extend to him a helping hand, as his wife was at deadly variance with those who could have given him what he was so much in want of.

The fire had gone out on his domestic altar, for no trusting wife sat there.  She was dark and heavy in soul.  They had become strangers to each other, not by roaming, but by a too close relationship.

Mrs. Deane had returned only bodily to her home; her heart and mind were on a sea of doubt, at the mercy of every wind and wave.  No ripple of love broke their long silence, as they sat together in their home.  They each felt lonely, and would have been far less so apart.  Mr. Deane at length broke the spell, by saying,—­

“I am going to the mountains next week, Mabel; would you like to go?”

“I am going home.  Mother has sent for me.  I may as well be there as here; no one will miss me.”

She had better have left the words unsaid, and saw it herself in the dark, contracted brow of her husband, who replied,—­

“I shall go alone.  It is best I should.  You can remain with your parents the remainder of the season, for I shall not be back for months,” then abruptly left the room.

The words were as decisive as his manner.  She felt she had gone too far, and would have given worlds to retract.  But it was too late; he was now out of hearing.

What had come over their lives?  They were treading a road thick with dust, which rose at every step, soiling their once white garments.  Surely they needed a baptism to make them pure.

The cloud which overhung their sky held the heavenly water which would make them clean.

It came in the form of sickness.  Their eldest boy laid ill and near unto death.  Hope and fear alternated in their hearts as they stood beside the little one, and saw a raging fever course through his veins, and day by day the full form wasted away.  Thus the baptismal waters flowed over their souls, and they wept together.  Joy beamed from their faces when the dread crisis was past, and they were told he would live.  Through sorrow they were reunited.  They had wandered, but were returning with life and love in their hearts, and crowns of forgiveness in their hands.  Thus do we ever become strong through our sufferings, and seeming evils work our good, for they are parts of the great unity of life.

Mrs. Deane lessened her prejudices, and learned to know and love those whom her husband had found worthy, and among them, Miss Evans.  With her she passed many pleasant hours, and that noble woman made known to her, many paths of rest and peace which she had previously through her ignorance and jealousy, persistently shunned.