THE first year of trial passed.

If the young wife's heart-history for that single year could be written, it would make a volume, every pages of which the reader would find spotted with his tears.

No pen but that of the sufferer could write that history; and to her, no second life, even in memory, were endurable.

The record is sealed up--and the story will not be told.
It is not within the range of all minds to comprehend what was endured.

Wealth, position, beauty, admiration, enlarged intelligence, and highly cultivated tastes, were hers.