k?"
inquired Hendrickson.

Mrs. Florence shook her head.

Not caring to manifest an interest in Mrs. Dexter that might attract
attention, or occasion comment, Hendrickson dropped the subject.
During the evening he threw himself in the way of the physician, and
gathered all he desired to know from him. The report was so
favorable that he determined to leave Newport by the midnight boat
for New York and return home, which he accordingly did.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE season at Newport closed, and the summer birds of fashion
flitted away. But Mrs. Dexter still remained, and in a feeble
condition. It was as late as November before the physician in
attendance would consent to her removal. She was then taken home,
but so changed that even her nearest friends failed to recognize in
her wan, sad, dreary face, anything of its old expression.

No man could have been kinder--no man could have lavished warmer
attentions on another than were lavished on his wife by Mr. Dexter.
With love-like assiduity, he sought to awaken her feelings to some
interest in life; not tiring, though she remained as coldly passive
as marble. But she gave him back no sign. There was neither
self-will, perverseness, nor antagonism, in this; but paralysis
instead. Emotion had died.

It was Christmas before Mrs. Dexter left her room--and then she was
so weak as to need a supporting arm. Tonics only were administered
by her physician; but if they acted at all, it was so feebly that
scarcely any good result appeared. The cause of weakness lay far
beyond the reach of his medicines.

With the slow return of bodily strength and mental activity, was
developed in the mind of Mrs. Dexter a feeling of repugnance to her
husband that went on increasing. She did not struggle against this
feeling, because she knew, by instinct, that all resistance would be
vain. It was something over which she could not possibly have
control; the stern protest of nature against an alliance unblessed
by love.

One day, during mid-winter, her best friend, Mrs. De Lisle, in
making one of her usual visits, found her sitting alone, and in
tears. It was the first sign of struggling emotion that she had yet
seen, and she gladly recognized the tokens of returning life.

"Showers for the heart," she said, almost smiling, as she kissed the
pale invalid. "May the green grass and the sweet smiling violets
soon appear."

Mrs. Dexter did not reply, but with unusual signs of feeling, h