I have no cross words, no petulances, no neglects even, to bear.

But oh! in all his friendly words, in all his kindly, considerate actions, what a _chill_ there is! It is as if some one that had been a day dead laid his hand on my heart! How many, _many_ miles farther apart we are now, than we were when I was here, and he in Antigua; albeit then the noisy winds roared and sung, and the brown billows tumbled between us! If he would but _hit_ me, or box my ears, as Bobby has so often done--a good swinging, tingling box, that made one see stars, and incarnadized all one side of one's countenance--oh, how much, _much_ less would it hurt than do the frosty chillness of his smiles, the uncaressing touch of his cool hands! I have plenty of time to think these thoughts, for I am a great deal alone now.

Roger is out all day, hunting or with his agent, or on some of the manifold business that landed property entails, or that the settlement of Mr.Huntley's inextricably tangled affairs involves.

Very often he does not come in till dressing-time.

I never ask him where he has been--never! I think that I know.
Often in these after-days, pondering on those ill times, seeing their incidents in that duer proportion that a stand-point at a little distance from them gives, it has occurred to me that sometimes I was wrong, that not seldom, while I was eating my heart out up-stairs, with dumb jealousy picturing to myself my husband in the shaded fragrance, the dulcet gloom of the drawing-room at Laurel Cottage, he was in the house with me, as much alone as I, in the dull solitude of his own room, pacing up and down the carpet, or bending over an unread book.
I will tell you why I think so.