t. 'T is a sin to dance, a sin to hunt, a sin to
enjoy ourselves. We are here to fast, and pray, and build schools, and
go to church twice a day."

And so he went about publishing his household ill; but, to tell the
truth, a secret satisfaction peeped through his lugubrious accents. An
ugly saint is an unmixed calamity to jolly fellows; but to be lord and
master, and possessor, of a beautiful saint, was not without its piquant
charm. His jealousy was dormant, not extinct; and Kate's piety tickled
that foible, not wounded it. He found himself the rival of heaven,--and
the successful rival; for, let her be ever so strict, ever so devout,
she must give her husband many delights she could not give to heaven.

* * * * *

This soft and piquant phase of the passion did not last long. All things
are progressive.

Brother Leonard was director now, as well as confessor; his visits
became frequent; and Mrs. Gaunt often quoted his authority for her acts
or her sentiments. So Griffith began to suspect that the change in his
wife was entirely due to Leonard; and that, with all her eloquence and
fervor, she was but a priest's echo. This galled him. To be sure Leonard
was only an ecclesiastic; but if he had been a woman, Griffith was the
man to wince. His wife to lean so on another; his wife to withdraw from
the social pleasures she had hitherto shared with him; and all because
another human creature disapproved them. He writhed in silence awhile,
and then remonstrated.

He was met at first with ridicule: "Are you going to be jealous of my
confessor?" and, on repeating the offence, with a kind, but grave
admonition, that silenced him for the time, but did not cure him, nor
even convince him.

The facts were too strong: Kate was no longer to him the genial
companion she had been; gone was the ready sympathy with which she had
listened to all his little earthly concerns; and as for his hay-making,
he might as well talk about it to an iceberg as to the partner of his
bosom.

He was genial by nature, and could not live without sympathy. He sought
it in the parlor of the "Red Lion."

Mrs. Gaunt's high-bred nostrils told her where he haunted, and it caused
her dismay. Woman-like, instead of opening her battery at once, she wore
a gloomy and displeased air, which a few months ago would have served
her turn and brought about an explanation at once; but Griffith took it
for a stronger dose of religious s