quish; there were still dark moods of restlessness when
her companionship was trying; but it was now that Herbert proved the
nobleness and reality of his repentance.

For he was ever gentle with her, however much she might try him. Some
talk he had had with her doctor had convinced him that she was not to
blame for these morbid moods; that the nerves had become disorganized
by those years of solitary misery. "We must bear all our troubles
together," as he often told her; and so he bore this, as he did the
trial of his children's loss, with grave fortitude, and a patience
that surprised all who knew him.

And he was not without his reward, for, the dark fit over, Magdalene's
smile would greet him like sunshine after a storm, and she would thank
him with tears and caresses for his forbearance.

"I can't think what makes me still so horrid, when I am so happy," she
said once to him, when the first year of their reunion had passed. "I
do my best to fight against these moods, but they seem stronger than
myself and overcome me. Do not be so good to me next time, Herbert;
scold me and be angry with me, as you used in the old days."

"I cannot," he answered, smiling. "I never loved you in the old days
as I do now. I would not change my wife, in spite of all the trouble
she gives me, for any other woman upon earth. You believe this, love,
do you not?" looking at her beautiful face anxiously, for it had
clouded a little at his last words.

"Yes, but I do not like to trouble you: it is that that frets me. I
wanted to be a comfort to you, and never to give you a moment's
uneasiness; but I cannot help myself, somehow. I love you, I don't
believe you know yet how I love you, Herbert; but it seems as if I
must grieve you sometimes."

"Never mind; I will hear your trouble and my own too," he answered,
cheerily; and in this way he always comforted her. But to Magdalene
her own self ever remained a mystery; the forces of her own nature
were too strong for her, and yet she was not a weak woman. She had
expected that in her case love and happiness would have worked a
miracle, as though miracles were ever effected by mere human
agencies,--that she would rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of her
past, reborn, rejuvenated, with an inexhaustible fund of moral
strength.

Now she had Herbert, all would go smoothly; she would no longer mourn
for her little ones. Since her husband was there to comfort her, with
his constant presence to su