His wife accompanied him to the outer door.

"It is chilly!" she shivered, as this was opened. "Are you warmly

clad, love?" feeling his overcoat. "And don't forget your umbrella."

Her hand had not left his shoulder, and, in offering a parting kiss,

she leaned her head there also.

"I wish you would not go!" she said impulsively and sincerely.

"Why?"

"I cannot say--except that I dread to be left alone all day. You may

laugh at me, but I feel as if something terrible were hanging over

me--or you. The spiritual oppression is like the physical

presentiment sensitive temperaments suffer when a thunder-storm is

brooding, but not ready to break. Yet I can refer my fears to no

known cause."

"That is folly." Mr. Aylett bit off the end of a cigar, and felt in

his vest pocket for a match-safe. "You should be able always to

assign a reason for the fear as well as the hope that is in you. You

have no idea, you say, from what recent event your prognostication

takes its hue?"

She laughed, and straightened her fine neck.

"From the same imprudence that has consigned poor Herbert to the

house for the day, I suspect--a late and heavy dinner. I had the

nightmare twice before morning. You will be home to supper?"

"Yes."

Hesitating upon the monosyllable, he took hold of her elbows, so as

to bring her directly before him, and searched her countenance until

it was dyed with blushes.

"Why do you color so furiously?" he asked in raillery that had a sad

or sardonic accent. "I was about to ask if you would be inconsolable

if I never came back. Perhaps your presentiment points to some such

fatality. These little accidents have happened in better-regulated

families than ours."

"WINSTON!"

She gasped and blanched in pain or terror.

"What is the matter? Have I hurt you?" releasing his grasp.

"Yes--HERE!" laying his hand upon her heart, the beautiful eyes

terrified and pathetic as those of a wounded deer. "For the love of

Heaven, never stab me again with such suggestions. When you die, I

shall not care to live. When you cease to love me, I shall wish we

had died together on our marriage-day--my husband!"

He let her twine her arms about his neck, laid his cheek to her

brow, clasped her tightly and kissed her impetuously, madly, again

and yet again--disengaged himself, and ran down the steps. She was

standing on the top one, still flushed and breathless from the

violence of his embrace, when he looked back from the gate, her

commanding figure framed by the embowering creepers, as Mabel's

girlish shape had been when Frederic Chilton waved his farewell to

her from the same spot.




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