d up so much! I can't get over it--" and she
sobbed aloud.

I couldn't speak just then. The tears were too near.

"Oh, when first I wore that gown, how happy I was, and how I looked
forward to the future! Everything was bright then, but now it's so
changed that I'd hardly know it was the same--it isn't the same--I'm not
the same, either----"

Here she broke down again.

I leaned over, and laid my hand on hers. You know she wasn't really
there; the real Mrs. Purblind seldom talked over her affairs with me,
but I could feel what she was suffering, none the less.

"I want to tell you something, if I may," I said.

She assented in a dumb sort of fashion, and I leaned a little nearer.

The firelight gleamed on the walls, and in its glow the pictures looked
down kindly upon us. Soft shadows rested in the corners of the room, and
an air of peace and comfort brooded throughout, as a bird upon her nest.

"Think a little while," I said gently; "think of his side. Is he quite
the same as he was when he married?"

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed; "he was so loving and attentive then."

"Had he any hopes and plans? Enthusiasm? Did life look bright to him?"

A serious look traversed her face, as though she were entertaining a new
thought.

"Look at him as he used to be," I continued.

And as I spoke, she saw that a young man with a fresh, sunny face--a
healthy, happy, care-free face--was sitting in the ruddy firelight.

She gave a start.

"That is Joe as he used to be!" she said. "Oh, how he's changed!"

Even as she spoke, the young man faded away, and an older man--much
older, apparently, careworn, and unhappy-looking--took his place.

The coals in the glowing grate sank, and the bright light suddenly died.
A deep shadow rested upon the figure beside us; he was with us, and yet
seemed so alone.

"Who would think a man could change that way in ten years!" exclaimed
Mrs. Purblind; "would you believe it possible?"

"Not unless he had known many disappointments, and borne loads and cares
beyond his years."

"I have never thought of that," she murmured, "I believe poor Joe has
been disappointed too."

"He certainly has."

"It's too bad, and there's no help for it now," she added with a sob.

"Don't say that," I urged, laying my hand on hers again; "you close the
gate of heaven when you say 'no hope.' There is always hope as long as
there is a spark of life--any physician will tell you that. If you can be
patient--be