me under such circumstances; and altogether he assured me that
it would be excessively troublesome, injurious, and unsafe. I over-ruled
his objections as well as I could, for I trembled at the thoughts of his
going alone, and would sacrifice almost anything for myself, much even
for my child, to prevent it; but at length he told me, plainly, and
somewhat testily, that he could not do with me: he was worn out with the
baby's restless nights, and must have some repose. I proposed separate
apartments; but it would not do.

'The truth is, Arthur,' I said at last, 'you are weary of my company, and
determined not to have me with you. You might as well have said so at
once.'

He denied it; but I immediately left the room, and flew to the nursery,
to hide my feelings, if I could not soothe them, there.

I was too much hurt to express any further dissatisfaction with his
plans, or at all to refer to the subject again, except for the necessary
arrangements concerning his departure and the conduct of affairs during
his absence, till the day before he went, when I earnestly exhorted him
to take care of himself and keep out of the way of temptation. He
laughed at my anxiety, but assured me there was no cause for it, and
promised to attend to my advice.

'I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for your return?' said I.

'Why, no; I hardly can, under the circumstances; but be assured, love, I
shall not be long away.'

'I don't wish to keep you a prisoner at home,' I replied; 'I should not
grumble at your staying whole months away--if you can be happy so long
without me--provided I knew you were safe; but I don't like the idea of
your being there among your friends, as you call them.'

'Pooh, pooh, you silly girl! Do you think I can't take care of myself?'

'You didn't last time. But THIS time, Arthur,' I added, earnestly, 'show
me that you can, and teach me that I need not fear to trust you!'

He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to soothe a child. And
did he keep his promise? No; and henceforth I can never trust his word.
Bitter, bitter confession! Tears blind me while I write. It was early
in March that he went, and he did not return till July. This time he did
not trouble himself to make excuses as before, and his letters were less
frequent, and shorter and less affectionate, especially after the first
few weeks: they came slower and slower, and more terse and careless every
time. But stil