Was she not
_his_ wife? And had she not, around her, every thing to make the
heart satisfied? He verily believed that she had. He spoke to her
kindly, yet, as she felt, indifferently, while her heart was pining
for words of warm affection.
This was the first shadow that fell, darkly, across the young wife's
path. For hours after her husband's senses were locked in slumber,
she lay wakeful and weeping. He understood not, if he remarked the
fact, why her cheeks had less color and her eyes less brightness on
the morning that succeeded to this, on Madeline's part, never
forgotten evening.
We need not present a scene from the sixth, the seventh, or even the
twentieth day of Madeline's married life. All moved on with a kind
of even tenor. Order--we might almost say, mercantile order--reigned
throughout the household. And yet, shadows were filling more and
more heavily over the young wife's feelings. To be loved, was an
element of her existence--to be loved with expression. But,
expressive fondness was not one of the cold, dignified Mr. Leslie's
weaknesses. He loved Madeline--as much as he was capable of loving
anything out of himself.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137