indifferent to his wife's unhappy state of mind, his sensitiveness
to the fact became more and more painful every moment. The interest
at first felt in his children, gradually died away, and, by the time
supper was over, he was in a moody and fretted state, yet had he
manfully striven to keep his mind evenly balanced.

On returning to the sitting-room, the sight of the book he had
brought home caused Ellis to make a strong effort to regain his
self-possession. He had set his heart on reading that book to Cara,
because he was sure she would get interested therein; and he hoped,
by introducing this better class of reading, to awaken a healthier
appetite for mental food than she now possessed. So he occupied
himself with a newspaper, while his wife undressed the children and
put them to bed. It seemed to him a long time before she was ready
to sit down with her sewing at the table, upon which the soft,
pleasant light of their shaded lamp was falling. At last she came,
with her small work-basket in her mind. Topmost of all its contents
was a French novel. When Ellis saw this, there came doubts and
misgivings across his heart.

"Cara," said he quickly, and in a tone of forced cheerfulness,
taking up, at the same time, his volume of Prescott,--"I brought
this book home on purpose to read aloud. I dipped into it, to-day,
and found it so exceedingly interesting, that I deferred the
pleasure of its perusal until I could share it with you."

Now, under all the circumstances, it cost Ellis considerable effort
to appear cheerful and interested, while saying this.

"What book is it?" returned Cara, in a chilling tone, while her eyes