s. He
had seen her so too often to be alarmed, and was about to pull the
bellrope, when she found voice to bid him desist, saying it was himself
who was killing her by inches, and that the sooner she was dead, the
better she supposed he would like it. "But, for my sake," she added, in
a kind of howl, between crying and scolding, "do try to behave yourself
during the short time I have to live, and not go to giving away ponies,
and mercy knows what."

Now, Mr. Graham was not conscious of having looked at a lady, except
through the window, for many days, and when his wife first attacked him,
he was at a great loss to understand; but as she proceeded it all became
plain, and on the whole, he felt glad that the worst was over. He would
not acknowledge, even to himself, that he was afraid of his wife, still
he had a little rather she would not always know what he did. He
supposed, as a matter of course, that she would, earlier or later, hear
of his present to 'Lena, and he well knew that such an event would
surely be followed by a storm, but after what had taken place between
them that morning, he did not expect so much feeling, for he had thought
her wrath nearly expended. But Mrs. Graham was capable of great
things--as she proved on this occasion, taunting her husband with his
preference for 'Lena, accusing him of loving her better than he did
herself, and asking him plainly, if it were not so.

"Say," she continued, stamping her foot (the one without a slipper),
"say--I will be answered. Don't you like 'Lena better than you do me?"

Mr. Graham was provoked beyond endurance, and to the twice repeated
question, he at length replied, "God knows I've far more reason to love
her than I have you." At the same moment he left the room, in time to
avoid a sight of the collapsed state into which his horrified wife who
did not expect such an answer, had fallen.

"Can I tell her? oh, dare I tell her?" he thought, as he wiped the drops
of perspiration from his brow, and groaned in the bitterness of his
spirit. Terribly was he expiating his fault, but at last he grew
calmer, and cowardice (for he was cowardly, else he had never been what
he was) whispered, "Wait yet awhile. Anything for domestic peace."

So the secret was buried still deeper in his bosom, he never thinking
how his conduct would in the end injure the young girl, dearer to him
far than his own life. While he sat thus alone in his room, and as his
wife lay u