d gleams of fire,
he counted out the required amount, one hundred and twenty-five
dollars; then confronting Penoyer, he said fiercely, "Give me a
receipt for this instantly, after which I will take it upon me to show
you the door."

"Certainement, certainement, all I want is my l'argent," said Penoyer.

The money was paid, the receipt given, and then, as Penoyer hesitated
a moment, Ashmore said, "Are you waiting to be helped out, sir?"

"No, monsieur, si vous plait, I have tree letters from madam, which
will give you one grande satisfaction to read." Then tossing toward
Ashmore the letters, with a malicious smile he left the house.

Poor Carrie! When sure that he was gone she fainted away and was
carried from the room. At supper, however, she made her appearance,
and after that was over the guests, unopposed, left _en masse_.

What effect Penoyer's disclosures had on Ashmore we never exactly
knew, but when, a few days before the young couple left home, they
called at our house, we all fancied that Carrie was looking more
thoughtful than usual, while a cloud seemed to be resting on Ashmore's
brow. The week following their marriage they left for New York, where
they were going to reside. During the winter Carrie wrote home
frequently, giving accounts of the many gay and fashionable parties
which she attended, and once in a letter to Anna she wrote, "The
flattering attentions which I receive have more than, once made
Ashmore jealous."

Two years from the time they were married Mrs. Ashmore was brought
back to her home a pale, faded invalid, worn out by constant
dissipation and the care of a sickly baby, so poor and blue that even
I couldn't bear to touch it. Three days after their arrival Mr. Evelyn
brought to us his bride, Cousin Emma, blooming with health and beauty.
I could scarcely believe that the exceedingly beautiful Mrs. Evelyn
was the same white-faced girl who, two years before, had sat with me
beneath the old grapevine.

The day after she came I went with her to visit Carrie, who, the
physicians said, was in a decline. I had not seen her before since her
return, and on entering the sick-room, I was as much surprised at her
haggard face, sunken eyes, and sallow skin, as was Mr. Ashmore at the
appearance of Emma. "Is it possible," said he, coming forward, "is it
possible, Emma--Mrs. Evelyn, that you have entirely recovered?"

I remembered what he had once said about "invalid wives," and I feared
that the