hand on the address, scowled at it, and put it back again,
adding--'But he tells me he is about to return next
week.'

'He tells me so every time he writes.'

'Indeed! well, it is like him. But to me he always
avowed it his intention to stay till the present month.'

It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated
transgression and systematic disregard of truth.

'It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,'
observed Mr. Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and
reading, I suppose, my feelings in my face.

'Then he is really coming next week?' said I, after a
pause.

'You may rely upon it, if the assurance can give you
any pleasure. And is it possible, Mrs. Huntingdon, that you
can rejoice at his return?' he exclaimed, attentively perusing
my features again.

'Of course, Mr. Hargrave; is he not my husband?'

'Oh, Huntingdon; you know not what you slight I' he
passionately murmured.

I took up my baby, and, wishing him good-morning,
departed, to indulge my thoughts unscrutinized, within the
sanctum of my home.

And was I glad? Yes, delighted; though I was
angered by Arthur's conduct, and though I felt that he
had wronged me, and was determined he should feel it
too.

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