HUSBANDS AND WIVES.

SOME days have gone by; the weather has changed; it ought not to be autumn yet, but there is a chilly feel in the evening air. Mrs. Downes shivers as she sits on board the steamer, and she sends Miss Coppock down to fetch warmer wrappings. Lying on the deck near her, almost at her feet, is Lord Charles Seton; and the two men pacing up and down, while they smoke, are Paul Whitmore and Mr. Downes.

Both are silent; and both, though the previous talk between them would not have led them to guess it, are thinking of their wives-thinking, too, that they have respectively just cause for dissatisfaction with them.

Marriage has acted differently on these men, as it must always act on diverse degrees of love. Mr. Downes has been selfish and worldly, but he married his wife only because he loved her; and the very disappointment her cold return to his affection caused, has developed in her husband a patience and an unselfishness which perhaps nothing else might have elicited the most unselfish wives do not always belong to the least selfish husbands.

Paul often asked himself lately why he had married his wife. The impression that Nuna had made on his fancy, he knew, would easily have been obliterated, and he found himself deprived of the freedom which he considered be

of a

longed to him, by the presence companion he seemed to have no power of making happy.

"Nuna is discontented by nature," he said to himself, as they paced up and down. "Of course she is superior in many ways to Patty; but how easily she takes life! it refreshes one to hear her silvery laugh, even when she laughs at nothing."

But Paul's face grew graver as he thought of Nuna's last letter; he considered it sullen and rebellious.

"I shall take my time about writing again," he thought. "I can quite fancy she wrote that letter off in a fit of temper. I never knew Nuna had a temper till that affair of the picture. She's jealous again, I suppose, that I should get beyond her apron-string. Well, she must come to her senses. will write, as soon as we make a decided halt, and tell her where to address letters. I dare say she's happy enough; in that first letter she said they were all so kind."

I

At the remembrance of that first letter a thrill of keen disappointment made itself felt. Any one looking at Paul's determined face would have said there was a spasm of jealous anger there-but it was anger against himself. He had read Nuna's first note hurriedly, but its lovingness brought back for a moment the self-created vision he had had during his lonely watch on the pier.

He would not have nourished resentment against his wife if he had been better satisfied with himself. He was not quite so much to blame as Nuna had thought him, for when Patty wrote to his wife, Mr. Downes had only given a half consent to the foreign journey; and it had been at first arranged that Paul and Lord Charles Seton should start together, and join the others at Bruges. But when this plan had been overruled by Mrs. Downes's quiet tact, it seemed to Paul that it would only vex Nuna, and that, as he meant to keep aloof from the Downes's, there was no occasion to tell his wife the names of all his travelling companions.

As to his visit to Park Lane, he had gone to meet Lord Charles Seton, and really no husband was bound to tell his wife where he passed all his time during her absence; and yet, though he said all this to himself, Paul Whitmore was not happy, or content.

"It is all her fault!" His companion's silence gave his thoughts no respite.

"I begin to fancy Nuna is coming out in a truer light till now I seem never to have understood her. She seemed a sweet timid creature, without a will of her own.

I hate men to ill-use their wives. I'm sure I have always been kind to Nuna-I always mean to be kind-but if she thinks I am going tamely to submit to be managed, she is very much mistaken.”

He gave a long weary sigh at the picture his words had called up-a life spent with a jealous woman-jealous of every word or look which he might give to any other, and jealous and exacting as to her own rights.

"Pritchard was right," he said, sullenly. "I ought never to have married unless I could have found some one easy-tempered and indulgent enough to adapt herself to my erratic ways. I am not like other men; and if Nuna really loved me, she would have found that out. My mother always understood me; but then, was there ever a woman like my mother?"

It is a holy and happy thought for a mother to look forward to this sort of canonization in a son's memory; but for the sake of that son's future happiness, and the partner who will share it, it might be well if mothers would teach their darlings to live a little for the happiness of others. Slavish worship, however aptly precepts may be uttered along with it, must teach active selfishness.

An impatient turn in the midst of the walk made Paul look at his companion.

Mr. Downes left him, and went up to his wife.

"Won't you come and walk up and down, Elinor? I think you may take cold, sitting there."

"Thank you, no; I am so comfortable. Miss Coppock has brought me a warm shawl;"-she smiled sweetly in her husband's face-"go back to Mr. Whitmore, Maurice; he gets dull if he is left alone."

But Mr. Downes had been remarking the careless ease of Lord Charles Seton's admiration; he did not choose it to be shown so publicly on the open deck of the steamer. Mr. Downes loved his wife too well to think she would persist in encouraging this admiration if he showed decided disapproval.

"I really think you had better walk up and down," he said, in so grave a voice that Patty looked up with an amused smile on her lips. She saw the vexation in his face.

"You dear old fidget," she said, but she made no attempt to move, and her eyes were not smiling.

Lord Charles looked at Mr. Downes, and he began to have a dim consciousness that all was not as bright as it seemed, and that he was rather in the way. He got up, and strolled after Paul.

Patty sat waiting till he was out of hearing; but her husband's impatience broke loose.

"Why don't you do what I ask? I'm tired of this nonsense." He spoke so roughly, that the blue eyes were raised. to his in sudden, unfeigned wonder. Patty was not surprised at her husband's vexation, but she was disturbed that he had found courage to express it; she was disconcerted, too; it seemed to her that the tactics which De Mirancourt had assured her would prove infallible in keeping well with her husband had not succeeded. This sort of behaviour was unjustifiable on his part. She never interfered with him in anything-why should he interfere with her?

"Poor Maurice! I thought he understood himself better. He always says he takes pride and pleasure in seeing me admired. What has Lord Charles done that Maurice has not seen done by others a hundred times before?"

And as long as Mr. Downes was ignorant that Patty could prefer any

one's society to his own, he had delighted in the homage paid to her; and, if Patty had loved him, he would have been safe in this delight, even if the worship paid her had been doubled. There is something shielding in love, even in women who have but vague ideas of a higher safeguard. When husband and wife are truly one-only halves when separated-love makes a woman callous to all but one opinion; perhaps, the truest and most singlehearted wives are the most simple and the least addicted to primness in their dealings with other men, because it could not occur to them to find any companionship equal to that of their husbands.

But Mr. Downes had gradually, and against his will, arrived at a doubt most humiliating to his self-esteem, and to a higher and better feeling than mere self-esteem. Just now as he came up to Patty and her companions, he had seen a look of weariness, of annoyance even, come upon his wife's face, and this was caused by his approach; she was plainly happier without him. It was not his first warning, but he had been incredulous; and in London Mrs. Downes had been more guarded; she had no simplicity to enable her to dare the world's opinion. Lord Charles Seton, too, had been so bewitched by Patty's picturesque appearance in travelling gear, far more becoming to her loveliness than the dazzling attire she delighted in, that he had forgotten everything as he sat there gazing up into her eyes with undisguised admiration.

His creed was that all beauty was made to be looked at. He had a way of thanking heaven he was free from prejudices, and ancient errors, and of talking of extinct superstitions and the modern growth of thought; he had picked up these notions orally at the university, and probably understood as much about the first as the last. He was the son of a Duke, he was very attractive both in person and manners, and he expected to succeed to a large property on the death of his cousin, Sir Henry Wentworth; but Paul

Whitmore had already discovered him to be shallow-witted and ignorant, and altogether a most undesirable acquaintance for Mrs. Downes.

Patty had not answered her husband : she wanted him to reconsider the tone in which he had spoken; presently he said more quickly,

"You will get chilled if you sit too long. Come and walk up and down."

"That's better," said Patty to herself; "but not right yet. He never must get his own way it doesn't do for men ; if they get it once, then they want to have it always."

"How you tease, you dear old Maurice! Why can't you sit down by me?"

Mr. Downes felt ashamed of himself; he was just beginning a penitent speech.

Patty turned her head ever so little to look after the two smokers, and her husband saw the movement; he made no effort to sit beside his wife; he stood stiff, and sullen.

"You must put an end to this nonsense at once, Elinor. I am not blaming you; I dare say you don't know it, but you will attract attention, and you'll have that young fool in love with you if you give him this kind of encouragement."

Patty sank back among her cushions, and clapped her hands.

"You dear, old thing," she laughed as if she were carried out of herself by the absurdity of her husband's words; "in love with me! How good that is, and how ungrateful you are; all this time I have been making myself a martyr. I have given up that clever Mr. Whitmore, who really can talk, that you might have him all to yourself, and actually I have tried to amuse that overgrown schoolboy, just to keep him from disturbing you. He bores Mr. Whitmore to death, I can see, by his amateur notions of art. I'm ashamed

of you, Maurice. In love! why, it would be most amusing. I suppose you'll be jealous of your young brothers when they come to see me; I shall just punish you, and make them fall in love with me. If you are going to be jealous, dear, don't begin with a boy! Very

well, you shall have your own way: tomorrow I expect you to take this goodlooking bore off my hands and let me amuse myself with Mr. Whitmore; at least, you will not be jealous of him, I imagine."

Mr. Downes looked sheepish, and still rather sullen, but he sat down beside her in silence. Patty offered him half of her warmest cloak, and drew it round him with her dimpled velvet hand and looked sweetly into his eyes; and although it was in her husband's mind to ask her to let the two young men amuse each other, and reserve her companionship for himself, he shrank from that silvery laughter and felt as if it would be priggish; and for the time peace was restored.

CHAPTER LIX.

AN APPEAL.

DAYS were slipping rapidly away, shortening as each went by. The fields grew more and more golden; scarlet, and blue, and ragged yellow flowers took the places of their more softly tinted fellows. The hedges, too, were fast putting on a fruit livery; only the wild clematis lingered, gracing every bush as it flung out over them its twining pennons.

But Nuna saw none of the lovely painting by which Nature was gradually changing summer into autumn; her days were spent in feverish impatience.

Every morning brought a new despair, only conquered by the fresh hope that sprang from it, that the next post might bring a letter from her husband. He had not written once since he went away; the only answer to her acceptance of his proposal had been a telegram, telling her they were starting three days sooner than he had expected.

In the reaction that came to Nuna after she had despatched her letter, she had almost resolved to hurry up to London, and bid her husband at least an affectionate farewell; but the telegram proved that this idea had come

too late; and she could not leave Mrs. Beaufort she felt sure there must be risk in giving her any cause for agitation.

But in the days that had gone by since then, the invalid had mended rapidly; her clinging to Nuna seemed to strengthen, and the irritation which convalescents always vent on one or other of their attendants appeared to have concentrated itself on her husband, instead of on his daughter.

Nuna

"She is fractious, and no mistake," Mrs. Fagg remarked, when poor Mr. Beaufort had gone out of the room looking as if he had been whipped; "but, dear me, Miss Nuna, it's only natural; it's all that there restlessness and want of sleep coming out on the tongue. You see when married folk get crooked it's orkard for 'em to get straight unless they're by theirselves." turned away so as to hide her face from observation, but Mrs. Fagg went on, "Why, bless you, ma'am, if Dennis was to say-I don't say he do-but if he forgot himself and spoke cross to me when we was alone, I should shake it off as a dog does water; but before folk may be it would be different. Bless you, it's just one of the ways which shows us the poor silly things we

are."

Nuna looked round at the landlady. She had been used to Mrs. Fagg's condemnation of others, it was new to hear her put herself on the list; and yet, something undefinable except in a general softening of voice and look had. told her before to-day that the past year had worked some change in the mistress of the "Bladebone."

"How is that?" Nuna smiled.

"Put it to yourself, ma'am, if Mr. Whitmore was to speak, I'll say careless like well, if you was with him alone, you'd go, I know you would,"-Nuna was blushing deeply at this home-thrust,

"and put your arms round his neck, or hold up your face to be kissed; you'd think it was your fault, fast enough. Bless you, Miss Nuna, you was always the same; them's sillinesses, no doubt, for the men have their tempers as well

as ourselves, but there's sillinesses as is safe and as is meant to be, because you see their pattern's in nature. But now look here, ma'am, if one of your old friends was by, Mrs. Bright now, or Mr. Will," Mrs. Fagg gave a quick sharp glance to see if her words had offended," you'd feel yourself ill-used, quite upset like, and unless you had a chance of making up may be you'd carry a sore heart, worrying yourself as to how you could have vexed Mr. Whitmore."

The sudden wonder in her listener's face gave Mrs. Fagg a hint of the truth. "That's all silliness, you know that, ma'am, as well as I do, but we're all alike at first beginning, high and low, we're all just men and women, neither more nor less; and if we looked at things straight and fair, we should see they must be the same. Any way, we've only got to look at things themselves, and not think of others or what they think."

"Yes, you're right, Mrs. Fagg," said Nuna meditatively.

"We're most on us, I take it, ma'am, sent into the world to do some one plain dooty; and with us womenfolk as are married and have to make just one man happy, what call have we to go fretting and worritting about other folks thinking of what happens atwixt us? Bless you, Miss, women are such fools; most on 'em lives as much for pleasing other folk as for pleasing their own husbands."

Nuna was in a reverie far off from the subject of talk, but a movement in Mrs. Beaufort's room recalled it.

"Do you mean about Mrs. Beaufort that it would be better for me to go home again? You mean, I think, that I come between them," she said.

Mrs. Fagg looked at her with a sort of reverent pity.

"Bless her dear heart! she's not changed a bit, just as willing to be guided as ever. Asking me what I think, indeed! I've a notion "-here Mrs. Fagg paused; whatever the notion was, she kept it back with a shake of the head, as if, like a refractory child, it wanted quieting.

"No, ma'am, not exactly; but I think

it might be good for you and them too, if you was to go over for a day or so to Gray's Farm; only yesterday your poor papa said Mrs. Bright was begging and praying of him to send you."

The Rector was always "your poor papa" in Mrs. Fagg's discourse to Nuna. She pitied Mrs. Beaufort; but the time she had spared to nurse her had not been given for the sake of the invalid. Mrs. Beaufort belonged to the Rectory, and that was enough for Mrs. Fagg; but she had never got over her first impression that Miss Matthews had come prowling into Ashton, like the white cat she was, and had turned Miss Nuna out of her own home.

The kind soul was feeling uneasy about Nuna; her paleness and her constant depression, except when with the invalid, worried Mrs. Fagg. Gradually, she was getting more and more inquisitive about her favourite, and to indulge her old dislike to Paul Whit

more.

Nuna shrank from Gray's Farm, and from Will; but she was in that state of listless restlessness when any change or movement promised relief; and when Mrs. Fagg privately urged Mr. Beaufort to send her away, after a little, Nuna consented to go. "Marriages don't seem matches," said Mrs. Fagg; now to look at 'em, anyone would have said Mr. Bright and Miss Nuna was cut out one for the other she, so careless, and he so prim and regular; but then, he'd have worried her to death most like-fond as he'd have been. He's a good, religious, handsome young gentleman; but, bless me, women don't care so much for looks, or for them tidy, particular ways, in a man-they've mostly got 'em theirselves. If there's a thing as a woman cares for in a husband, it's a something that's not like herself."

:

Mrs. Bright came duly to fetch Nuna, and she chattered incessantly as they drove along the dusty road. She persisted in regarding her old favourite as a victim. Even her son's positive assurance failed to persuade Mrs. Bright that Nuna could, knowingly and will