hat, left the house. In a fever of excitement he walked the street
for an hour and a half, and then, scarcely reflecting upon what he
did, went to the opera. But the music was discord in his ears, and
he left before the performance was half over.

The moment Esther heard the street-door close upon her husband, she
arose and went from the room where she was sitting with her aunt,
moving erect and with a firm step. Mrs. Carlisle did not see her for
two hours. The tea bell rang, but she did not come down from her
chamber, where, as the aunt supposed, she was bitterly repenting
what she had done. In this, however, she was mistaken, as was
proved, when, on joining her in her room for the purpose of striving
to console her, the conversation with which our story opens took
place.

When the fit of weeping with which Esther received the reproof her
aunt felt called upon to give, had subsided, Mrs. Carlisle said, in
a most solemn and impressive manner,

"What has occurred this evening may prove the saddest event of your
whole life. There is no calculating the result. No matter whose the
fault, the consequences that follow may be alike disastrous to the
happiness of both. Are you prepared, thus early, for a sundering of
the sacred bonds that have united you? And yet, even this may
follow. It has followed with others, and may follow with you. Oh!
the consequences of a first quarrel! Who can anticipate them?"

The voice of Mrs. Carlisle trembled, and then sank almost into a
sob. Her manner more than her words startled Esther.