nt that she should tell,
but she might have confided to him quite sufficient. He would only have
cherished her the more deeply, and sheltered her under his fostering
care, safe from harm.

Why did she not? In the impulse of the moment she was about to do so,
when Mr. Carlyle, who had been taking a letter from his pocket book put
it into her hand. Upon what slight threads the events of life turn! Her
thoughts diverted, she remained silent while she opened the letter. It
was from Miss Carlyle, who had handed it to her brother in the moment of
his departure, to carry to Lady Isabel and save postage. Mr. Carlyle had
nearly dropped it into the Folkestone post office.

A letter as stiff as Miss Corny herself. The children were well, and the
house was going on well, and she hoped Lady Isabel was better. It filled
three sides of note paper, but that was all the news it contained, and
it wound up with the following sentence, "I would continue my epistle,
but Barbara Hare, who is to spend the day with us, has just arrived."

Barbara Hare spending the day at East Lynne! That item was quite enough
for Lady Isabel, and her heart and her confidence closed to her husband.
She must go home to her children, she urged; she could not remain longer
away from them; and she urged it at length with tears.

"Nay, Isabel," said Mr. Carlyle; "if you are so much in earnest as this,
you shall certainly go back with me."

Then she was like a child let loose from school. She laughed, she danced
in her excess of content; she showered kisses on her husband, thanking
him in her gleeful gratitude. Mr. Carlyle set it down to her love for
him; he arrived at the conclusion that, in reiterating that she could
not bear to be away from him, she spoke the fond truth.

"Isabel," he said, smiling tenderly upon her, "do you remember, in the
first days of our marriage, you told me you did not yet love me, but
that the love would come. I think this is it."

Her face flushed nearly to tears at the words; a bright, glowing, all
too conscious flush. Mr. Carlyle mistook its source, and caught her to
his heart.

Lady Isabel had returned home to bodily health, to the delight of
meeting her children, to the glad sensation of security. But as the days
went on, a miserable feeling of apathy stole over her: a feeling as if
all whom she had loved in the world had died, leaving her living and
alone.

She did not encourage these reflections; knowing what you do know o