ve him to lean on just now. Oh, I'm sure we
shall find a way out of these troubles, never fear." And Rose took the
letter, and left John and Grace together.

"O Gracie, Gracie!" said John, throwing himself down on the old chintz
sofa, and burying his face in his hands, "what a woman there is! O
Gracie! I wish I was dead! Life is played out with me. I haven't the
least desire to live. I can't get a step farther."

[Illustration: "O Gracie! I wish I was dead!"]

"O John, John! don't talk so!" said Grace, stooping over him. "Why,
you will recover from this! You are young and strong. It will be
settled; and you can work your way up again."

"It is not the money, Grace; I could let that go. It is that I have
nothing to live for,--nobody and nothing. My wife, Gracie! she is
worse than nothing,--worse, oh! infinitely worse than nothing! She is
a chain and a shackle. She is my obstacle. She tortures me and hinders
me every way and everywhere. There will never be a home for me where
she is; and, because she is there, no other woman can make a home for
me. Oh, I wish she would go away, and stay away! I would not care if I
never saw her face again."

There was something shocking and terrible to Grace about this
outpouring. It was dreadful to her to be the recipient of such a
confidence, to hear these words spoken, and to more than suspect their
truth. She was quite silent for a few moments, as he still lay with
his face down, buried in the sofa-pillow.

Then she went to her writing-desk, took out a little ivory miniature
of their mother, came and sat down by him, and laid her hand on his
head.

"John," she said, "look at this."

He raised his head, took it from her hand, and looked at it. Soon she
saw the tears dropping over it.

"John," she said, "let me say to you now what I think our mother would
have said. The great object of life is not happiness; and, when we
have lost our own personal happiness, we have not lost all that life
is worth living for. No, John, the very best of life often lies beyond
that. When we have learned to let ourselves go, then we may find that
there is a better, a nobler, and a truer life for us."

"I _have_ given up," said John in a husky voice. "I have lost _all_."

"Yes," replied Grace, steadily, "I know perfectly well that there is
very little hope of personal and individual happiness for you in your
marriage for years to come. Instead of a companion, a friend, and a
helper, you have a