eeks of convalescence went by
she tried so hard to do her duty as a wife, going often to the Friend of
whom Helen had told her, and finding there the grace which helped her
bear what otherwise she could not have borne and lived. The entire
history of her life during that wretched winter was never told save as
it was written on her face, which was a volume in itself of meek and
patient suffering.

Wilford had never mentioned Genevra to her since the day of his return,
and Katy sometimes felt that it would be well to talk that matter over.
It might lead to a more perfect understanding than existed between them
now, and dissipate the cloud which hung so darkly on their domestic
horizon. But Wilford repulsed all her advances upon that subject, and
Genevra was a dead name in their household, save as it was on Katy's
lips when she prayed, asking that she might feel only perfect kindness
toward the Genevra who had so darkened her life.

Wilford's home was not pleasant to him now, but the fault was with
himself. Katy did well her part, meeting him always with a smile, and
trying to win him from the dark mood she could not fathom. Times there
were when for an entire day he would appear like his former self,
caressing her with unwonted tenderness, calling her his "poor crushed
dove," but never asking her forgiveness for all he had made her endure.
He was too proud to do that now, and his tenderness always passed away
when he remembered Morris Grant and Katy's remark to Helen: "I am afraid
it can never be with us as it was once. I have not the same trust in
him."

"She had no right to complain of me to Helen," he thought, forgetting
the time when he had been guilty of a similar offense in a more
aggravated form.

He could not reason upon anything naturally, and matters grew daily
worse, while Katy's face grew whiter and her voice sadder in its tone.

Sometimes Wilford would spend the entire evening away from home,
tarrying till the clock struck twelve before he came, and Katy would
afterward hear that he had been at the house of some friend, or with
Sybil Grandon, whose influence over him increased in proportion as her
own was lessened.

When the Lenten days came on, oh, how Katy longed to be in Silverton, to
kneel again in its quiet church, and offer up her penitential prayers
with the loved ones at home. At last she ventured to ask Wilford if she
might go, her spirits rising when he did not refuse her request at once,
bu