ed. "Zoe, what mad prank is this? Let me help you down at once."

"There's no need for you to trouble yourself, I am quite able to get down
without assistance, when I'm ready," she replied, putting a strong
emphasis upon the last words.

"No; it is too dangerous," and he held up his arms with an imperative,
"Come!"

"How you do order me about," she muttered, half under her breath, and more
than half inclined to rebel.

But no; the children were looking and listening, and must not be allowed
to suspect any unpleasantness between herself and her husband.

She dropped into his arms, he set her upon her feet, drew her hand within
his arm, and walked away with her.

"I do not approve of tree-climbing for a married woman, Zoe," he said,
when they were out of ear-shot of the children; "at least, not for my
wife; and I must request you not to try it again."

"It's a pity I didn't know how much my liberty would be curtailed by
getting married," she returned bitterly.

"And I am exceedingly sorry it is out of my power to restore your liberty
to you, since it seems that would add to your happiness."

At that she hastily withdrew her hand from his arm and walked quickly away
from him, taking the direction of the house.

Leaning against a tree, his arms folded, his face pale and stern, he
looked after her with a heart full of keenest anguish. She had never been
dearer to him than at this moment, but alas, she seemed to have lost her
love for him, and what a life of miserable dissension they were likely to
lead, repenting at leisure their foolishly hasty marriage!

And she was half frantic with pain and passion. He was tired of her
already--before they had been married a year--he did not love her any
longer and would be glad to be rid of her. Oh, what should she do! would
that she could fly to the ends of the earth that he might be relieved of
her hated presence.

And yet--oh, how could she ever endure constant absence from him? She
loved him so dearly, so dearly!

She hurried on past the house, down the whole length of the avenue and
back again, the hot tears all the time streaming over her cheeks. Then she
hastily wiped them away, went to her rooms, bathed her eyes, and dressed
carefully for tea.

Womanly pride had come to her aid; she must hide her wounds from all,
especially from Edward himself and "that detestable Miss Deane." She would
pretend to be happy, very happy, and no one should guess how terribly her
he