s feelings with an emotion of
tenderness.

"Oh, wretched man that I am!" he sighed, in the bitterness of a
repentant and self-upbraiding spirit. "So much dependent on me, and yet
as weak as a reed swaying in the wind."

How much that weak, tempted, suffering man, just trembling on the brink
of destruction, needed a true-hearted, forbearing, long-suffering wife!
Such a one might--yes, would--have saved him. By the strong cords of
love she would have held him to her side.

Several times Ellis tried to interest Cara in conversation; but to
every remark she replied only in monosyllables. In fact she was angry
with him, and, not feeling kindly, she would not speak kindly. All day
she had suffered deeply on his account. A thousand fears had harassed
her mind. She had even repented of her unkindness towards him, and
resolved to be more forbearing in the future. For more than an hour she
kept the table waiting at dinner time, and was so troubled at his
absence, that she felt no inclination to touch food.

"I'm afraid I am not patient enough with him," she sighed, as better
feelings warmed in her heart. "I was always a little irritable. But I
will try to do better. If he were not so close about money, I could be
more patient."

While such thoughts were passing through the mind of Mrs. Ellis, a
particular friend, named Mrs. Claxton, called to see her.

"Why, bless me, Cara! what's the matter?" exclaimed this lady, as she
took the hand of Mrs. Ellis. "You look dreadful. Haven't been sick, I
hope?"

"No, not sick in body," was replied.

"Sick in mind. The worst kind of sickness. No serious trouble, I hope?"

There was a free, off-hand, yet insinuating manner about Mrs. Claxton,
that, while it won the confidence of a certain class of minds, repulsed
others. Mrs. Ellis, who had no great skill in reading character,
belonged to the former class; and Mrs. Claxton was, therefore as just
said, a particular friend, and in a certain sense a confidante.

"The old trouble," replied Mrs. Ellis to the closing question of her
friend.

"With your husband?"

"Yes. He pinches me in money matters so closely, and grumbles so
eternally at what he calls my extravagance, that I'm out of all
patience. Last evening, just as I was about telling him that he must
give me new parlour carpets, he, divining, I verily believe, my
thoughts, cut off every thing, by saying, in a voice as solemn as the
grave--'Cara, I would like to have a little plai