aid, gently.

"You could not know, Frank. No one knows it but ourselves." And as if
to turn his thoughts to something else she continued hurriedly, "Thank
you so much, love, for that lovely poem, 'Thou art unspeakably
beloved.'"

And she stroked his hand and pressed it to her lips.

"My poor little Gertrude!"

They stood thus together for awhile wrapped about with the sweet
atmosphere of spring.

"A thunder-shower is coming up," he said at length; and she freed
herself from his arms and left the room. Frank could hear her going
softly about the corridor here and there, shutting the doors and
windows, and jingling her keys. She was looking to see if everything
was in order for the night.

He put his hand to his forehead and tried to recall who had spoken to
him of the villa. He passed on into his lighted room as if he could
think better there. After awhile the young wife came back, with her
key-basket on her arm. The sweet face was lifted up to him.

"Frank," said she, "what did the agent want of you to-day?"

He stared at her as if a flash of lightning had struck him.

"That is it! that is it!" And he struck his forehead as if something he
had been seeking for in vain had suddenly occurred to him.

"What did he want? Oh, nothing, Gertrude, nothing of any consequence."

She looked at him in surprise, but she said nothing. It was not her way
to ask a second time when she got no answer. It really was of no
consequence.

CHAPTER XII.

It had rained heavily in the night, with thunder and lightning, but
nature seemed to have no mind to-day to carry out her coquettish love
of contrasts; she did not laugh, as usual, with redoubled gayety in
blue sky and golden sunshine on forest and field: gloomily she spread a
gray curtain over the landscape, so uniformly gray that the sun could
not find the smallest cleft through which to send down a friendly
greeting, and it rained unceasingly, a perfect country rain.

Frank came back from the fields rejoicing over the weather, and
Gertrude waved her handkerchief to him out of the window as she did
every morning.

"All the flowers are ruined, Frank," she cried down to him, "what a
pity!"

He came up in high good humor. "No money could pay for this rain,
darling," he said; "I am a real farmer now, my mood varies according to
the weather."

"And mine too!" remarked his wife. "Such a gray day makes me
melancholy."

He went towards h