about a man who was unfaithful to his wife, and they
had five children just as we have. I know such things do occur, but how or
why is a mystery to me. I hope I am not too hard when I say that in such a
case it must be the wife's fault. Surely if she had been a good wife, an
unselfish and loving wife, he could not have been enticed away. Poor
thing! I wonder how she felt when she heard it. Probably she wouldn't
believe it. Probably she had too much faith in him. You shake your head.
Why, Ruth, you dear thing, you don't know anything about it. A wife
_couldn't_ believe such a thing. Why, I wouldn't believe it if told by an
angel from heaven. But then my husband is so dear to me. I do sometimes
wonder if all women care as much for their husbands as I do for mine. Do
you know, dear, I think about you so much. I know that there have been
several hearts in which you have reigned, and yet you have not cared. But
the true love, the right lover, has not come, or you could not have passed
him by. He is waiting for you; somewhere, somehow, he will come to you, I
am sure, and you will know then that you have belonged to each other all
this time; that this love has been coming down the ages from eternity for
just you two. You will not refuse it then. Why, I could never have refused
to marry Frank when I found that I was as much to him as he was to me! He
is so handsome, so good. I shall never cease to thank God that He made him
turn aside into the quiet places to find me. But, in spite of all this,
you know I don't think he is perfect. He doesn't care for books as much
as I wish he did. He has no ear for music, and he cannot tell a story
straight to save his life, the dear boy! Love does not blind my eyes, but
this is what it does do. It makes me overlook in him what would annoy me
in others. When, at that beautiful dinner of Mrs. Osborne's, Frank told
those stories of his that I've heard for years, I don't think any one
cared to hear them except Mr. Beck and me. I knew they were not well told,
but it was my husband who was telling them, and I could listen to his
voice, even if I couldn't sit next him.

"How the wind blows. Don't you think it has a lonesome sound to-night?
There isn't a glimmer of light from any of your windows yet, and see what
a lovely glow this fire casts all through the room. It makes the cold
walls look warm, and if it makes shadows, it chases them away when it
blazes its brightest. It is your fault that there