fore which the pleasant
little vanity of being adored, the content of an easy unexacting liking
in return, fell like straws in a flame. A something which she tried to
call wrath and hate, but which was truly the avenging angel, Love.

It seemed an age before Mr. Harper came up-stairs. When he did, his
father was leaning on his arm. The old gentleman looked tired, as
if they had been talking much, yet seemed to regard with a lingering
tenderness his son, once so little of a favourite. Why did he? Why did
Nathanael soon or late win every one's attachment? And how could he show
that reverent attention to his father, that cheerful kindness to his
sisters, while _she_ sat there, jealous of every look and word? Each
time he addressed any of these three, Agatha felt as if some unseen
power were lashing her into fury.

It is a strange and terrible thing, but nevertheless true, that a good
man, a kind man, a generous man, may sometimes quite unconsciously drive
a woman nearly mad; make her feel as though a legion of fiends were
struggling for possession of her soul, goad her weakness into acts which
torture alone causes, and the after-blackness of which, presented to
her real self, creates a humiliation which only drives her madder still.
Men, that is, good men, who are stronger and better able to do and
to bear--ought to be very gentle, very wise, in the manner they deal
towards women. No short-coming or wrong, however great, from the weaker
to the stronger, can merit an equal return; and according to the law
that the more delicate the mental and physical organisation, the
keener is the power of suffering; so no man, be he ever so wise or
tender-hearted, can rightly estimate the depth of a woman's agony.

Agatha rose, and went away by herself into a smaller room that led
out of the other, not unlike her own pet sitting-room in her maiden
days--the room where she had once stood by the firelight, and Nathanael
had come in and given her the first trembling, thrilling love-kiss. She
stood in the same attitude now. Did she remember it? Was she, in that
shadowy corner, with glimpses of light and fragments of talk pouring
in from the other room, dreaming over that old time--old, though it
happened scarcely three months ago--dreaming it over, with oh! what
different emotions!

And when she heard a step--her ears were very quick now. Did she turn,
and think to see her lover of old--so little loved? Alas! without
lifting her eyes, sh