ould share it with you."

Now, under all the circumstances, it cost Ellis considerable effort to
appear cheerful and interested, while saying this.

"What book is it?" returned Cara, in a chilling tone, while her eyes
were fixed upon her husband's face, with any thing but a look of love.

"The first volume of Prescott's History of Mexico, one of the most
charming"--

"Pho! I don't want to hear your dull old histories!" said Cara, with a
contemptuous toss of the head.

"Dull old histories!" retorted Ellis, whose patience was now gone.
"Dull old histories! You don't know what you are talking about. There's
more real interest in this book than in all the French novels that ever
were invented to turn silly women's heads."

Of course, Mrs. Ellis "fired up" at this. She was just at the right
point of ignition to blaze out at a single breath of reproof. We will
not repeat the cutting language she used to her husband. Enough, that,
in the midst of the storm that followed, Ellis started up, and bowing,
with mock ceremony, said--

"I wish you good evening, madam. And may I see you in a better humour
when we meet again."

A moment afterwards, and Caroline was alone with her own perturbed
feelings and unpleasant, self-rebuking thoughts. Still, she could not
help muttering, as a kind of justification of her own conduct--

"A perfect Hotspur! It's rather hard that a woman can't speak to her
husband, but he must fling himself off in this way. Why didn't he read
his history, if it was so very interesting, and let me alone. I don't
care about such things, and he knows it."

After this, Mrs. Ellis fell into a state of deep and gloomy abstraction
of mind. Many images of the past came up to view, and, among them, some
that it was by no means pleasant to look upon. This was not the first
time that her husband had gone off in a pet; but in no instance had he
come home with a mind as clear as when he left her. A deep sigh heaved
the wife's bosom as she remembered this; and, for some moments, she
suffered from keen self-reproaches. But, an accusing spirit quickly
obliterated this impression. In her heart she wrote many bitter things
against her husband, and magnified habits and peculiarities into
serious faults.

Poor, unhappy wife! How little did she comprehend the fact that her
husband's feet were near the brink of a precipice, and that a fearful
abyss of ruin was below; else would she have drawn him lovingly back,
instead of d