perpetually, therefore, had before him an enfeebled reflection of
himself, and this much irritated him, notwithstanding his love for
her; for who could help loving a woman who, without the least
hesitation, would have opened her veins at his command, and have
given up every drop of blood in her body for him? Over and over
again I have heard him offer some criticism on a person or event, and
the customary chime of approval would ensue, provoking him to such a
degree that he would instantly contradict himself with much
bitterness, leaving poor Mrs. M'Kay in much perplexity. Such a shot
as this generally reduced her to timid silence. As a rule, he always
discouraged any topic at his house which was likely to serve as an
occasion for showing his wife's dependence on him. He designedly
talked about her household affairs, asked her whether she had mended
his clothes and ordered the coals. She knew that these things were
not what was upon his mind, and she answered him in despairing tones,
which showed how much she felt the obtrusive condescension to her
level. I greatly pitied her, and sometimes, in fact, my emotion at
the sight of her struggles with her limitations almost overcame me
and I was obliged to get up and go. She was childishly affectionate.
If M'Kay came in and happened to go up to her and kiss her, her face
brightened into the sweetest and happiest smile. I recollect once
after he had been unusually annoyed with her he repented just as he
was leaving home, and put his lips to her head, holding it in both
his hands. I saw her gently take the hand from her forehead and
press it to her mouth, the tears falling down her cheek meanwhile.
Nothing would ever tempt her to admit anything against her husband.
M'Kay was violent and unjust at times. His occupation he hated, and
his restless repugnance to it frequently discharged itself
indifferently upon everything which came in his way. His children
often thought him almost barbarous, but in truth he did not actually