Ernest, faithful to his vow, slept on the floor in the library, and though he sat down at the table with us, he tasted nothing but bread and water. A stranger might not have observed any striking difference in his manners, but he had forbidden himself even the glance of affection, and his eye studiously and severely avoided mine. From the table he returned to the library, and shut himself up till the next bell summoned us to our now joyless and uncomfortable meals.

I cannot describe the tortures I endured during this season of unnatural and horrible constraint. It sometimes seemed as if I should grow crazy; and poor Edith was scarcely less unhappy. It was now that Mrs. Linwood showed her extraordinary powers of self-control, her wisdom, and intellectual strength. Calmly and serenely she fulfilled her usual duties, as mistress of her household and benefactress of the village. To visitors and friends she was the same hospitable and charming hostess that had thrown such enchantment over the granite walls of Grandison Place. She had marked out the line of duty for Edith and myself, which we tried to follow, but it was often with sinking hearts and faltering footsteps.

"If Ernest from a mistaken sense of duty has bound himself by a painful and unnatural vow," said she, in that tone of grave sweetness which was so irresistible, "we must not forget the social and domestic duties of life. A threefold responsibility rests upon us, for we must endeavor to bear the burden he has laid down. He must not see the unlimited power he has over our happiness, a power he is now unconsciously abusing. Smile, my children, indulge in all innocent recreations; let me hear once more your voices echoing on the lawn; let me hear the soothing notes of my Edith's harp; let me see my Gabriella's fingers weaving as wont, sweet garlands of flowers."

And now, the house began to be filled up with visitors from the city, who had been anxiously waiting the return of Mrs. Linwood. The character of Ernest for eccentricity and moodiness was so well known, that the peculiar situation in which he had placed himself did not attract immediate attention. But I knew I must appear, what I in reality was for the time, a neglected and avoided wife; and most bitterly, keenly did I suffer in consequence of this impression. In spite of the pain it had caused, I was proud of Ernest's exclusive devotion, and the notice it attracted. I knew I was, by the mortification I experienced, when that devotion was withdrawn. It is true, I knew he was inflicting on himself torments to which the fabled agonies of Tantalus, Sisyphus, and Ixion combined could not be compared; but others did not; they saw the averted eye, the coldness, the distance, the estrangement, but they did not, could not see, the bleeding heart, the agonized spirit hidden beneath the veil.

I ought to mention here the reason that Mr. Regulus did not come as usual to welcome us on our return. He had been appointed professor of mathematics in —— College, and had given up the charge of the academy where he had taught so many years with such indefatigable industry and distinguished success. He was now visiting in Boston, but immediately on his return was to depart to the scene of his new labors.

Mr. Regulus, or, as we should now call him, Professor Regulus, had so long been considered a fixture in town, this change in his destiny created quite a sensation in the circle in which he moved. It seemed impossible to do without him. He was as much a part of the academy as the colossal pen, whose gilded feathers still swept the blue of ether. Were it not for the blight that had fallen on my social joys, I should have mourned the loss of this steadfast friend of my orphan years; but now I could not regret it. The mildew of suspicion rested on our intercourse, and all its pleasant bloom was blasted. He was in Boston. Had he gone to ask the dauntless Meg to be the companion of his life, in the more exalted sphere in which he was about to move? And would she indeed suffer her "wild heart to be tamed by a loving hand?"

What delightful evenings we might now have enjoyed had not the dark passion of Ernest thrown such a chilling shadow over the household! Richard came almost every night, for it was his home. He loved and reverenced Mrs. Linwood, as if she were his own mother. Edith was to him as a sweet and gentle sister; and though never by word or action he manifested a feeling for me which I might not sanction and return as the wife of another, I knew, that no one had supplanted me in his affections, that I was still the Gabriella whom he had enshrined in his boyish heart,—in "all save hope the same." He saw that I was unhappy, and he pitied me. The bright sparkle of his eye always seemed quenched when it turned to me, and his voice when it addressed me had a gentler, more subdued tone. But his spirit was so sparkling, so elastic, his manners so kind and winning, his conversation so easy and graceful, it was impossible for sadness or constraint to dwell long in his presence. Did I never contrast his sunny temper, his unselfish disposition, his happy, genial temperament, with the darkness and moodiness and despotism of Ernest? Did I never sigh that I had not given my young heart to one who would have trusted me even as he loved, and surrounded me with a golden atmosphere of confidence, calm and beautiful as an unclouded autumn sky? Did I not tremble at the thought of passing my whole life in the midst of the tropic storms, the thunders and lightnings of passions?

And yet I loved Ernest with all the intensity of my first affection. I would have sacrificed my life to have given peace to his troubled and warring spirit. His self-imposed sufferings almost maddened me. My heart, as it secretly clung to him and followed his lonely steps as, faithful to his frantic vow, he withdrew from domestic and social intercourse,—longed to express its emotions in words as wildly impassioned as these:—

Oh, most beloved, yet most wretched and deluded husband, why was this dark thread,—this cable cord, I might say,—twisted with the pure and silvery virtues of thy character?

In the midst of this unhappy state of things, Margaret Melville arrived. She returned with Mr. Regulus, who brought her one beautiful evening, at the soft, twilight hour, to Grandison Place. Whether it was the subdued light in which we first beheld her, or the presence of her dignified companion, she certainly was much softened. Her boisterous laugh was quite melodized, and her step did not make the crystal drops of the girandoles tinkle as ominously as they formerly did. Still, it seemed as if a dozen guests had arrived in her single person. There was such superabundant vitality about her. As for Mr. Regulus, he was certainly going on even unto perfection, for his improvement in the graces was as progressive and as steady as the advance of the rolling year. I could not but notice the extreme elegance of his dress. He was evidently "at some cost to entertain himself."

"Come up stairs with me, darling," said she to me, catching my hand and giving it an emphatic squeeze; "help me to lay aside this uncomfortable riding dress,—besides," she whispered, "I have so much to tell you."

As we left the room and passed Mr. Regulus, who was standing near the door, the glance she cast upon him, bright, smiling, triumphant, and happy, convinced me that my conjectures were right.

"My dear creature!" she exclaimed, as soon as we were in my own chamber, throwing herself down on the first seat she saw, and shaking her hair loose over her shoulders, "I am so glad to see you. You do not know how happy I am,—I mean how glad I am,—you did not expect me, did you?"

"I thought Mr. Regulus had gone to see you, but I did not know that he would be fortunate enough to bring you back with him. He discovered last winter, I have no doubt, what a pleasant travelling companion you were."

"Oh, Gabriella, I could tell you something so strange, so funny,"—and here she burst into one of her old ringing laughs, that seemed perfectly uncontrollable.

"I think I can guess what it is," I said, assisting her at her toilet, which was never an elaborate business with her. "You and Mr. Regulus are very good friends, perhaps betrothed lovers. Is that so very strange?"

"Who told you?" she exclaimed, turning quickly round, her cheeks crimsoned and her eyes sparkling most luminously,—"who told you such nonsense?"

"It does not require any supernatural knowledge to know this," I answered. "I anticipated it when you were in New York, and most sincerely do I congratulate you on the possession of so excellent and noble a heart. Prize it, dear Margaret, and make yourself worthy of all it can, of all it will impart, to ennoble and exalt your own."

"Ah! I fear I never shall be worthy of it," she cried, giving me an enthusiastic embrace, and turning aside her head to hide a starting tear; "but I do prize it, Gabriella, beyond all words."

"Ah, you little gypsy!" she exclaimed, suddenly resuming her old wild manner, "why did you not prize it yourself? He has told me all about the romantic scenes of the academy,—he says you transformed him from a rough boor into a feeling, tender-hearted man,—that you stole into his very inmost being, like the breath of heaven, and made the barren wilderness blossom like the rose. Ah! you ought to hear how beautifully he talks of you. But I am not jealous of you."

"Heaven forbid!" I involuntarily cried.

"You may well say that," said she, looking earnestly in my face; "you may well say that, darling. But where is Ernest? I have not seen him yet."

"He is in the library, I believe. He is not very well; and you know he never enjoys company much."

"The same jealous, unreasonable being he ever was, I dare say," she vehemently exclaimed. "It is a shame, and a sin, and a burning sin, for him to go on as he does. Mr. Regulus says he could weep tears of blood to think how you have sacrificed yourself to him."

"Margaret,—Margaret! If you have one spark of love for me,—one feeling of respect and regard for Mrs. Linwood, your mother's friend and your own, never, never speak of Ernest's peculiarities. I cannot deny them; I cannot deny that they make me unhappy, and fill me with sad forebodings; but he is my husband,—and I cannot hear him spoken of with bitterness. He is my husband; and I love him in spite of his wayward humors, with all the romance of girlish passion, and all the tenderness of wedded love."

"Is love so strong as to endure every thing?" she asked.

"It is so divine as to forgive every thing," I answered.

"Well! you are an angel, and I will try to set a guard on these wild lips, so that they shall not say aught to wound that dear, precious, blessed little heart of yours. I will be just as good as I can be; and if I forget myself once in a while, you must forgive me,—for the old Adam is in me yet. There, how does that look?"

She had dressed herself in a plain white muslin, with a white sash carelessly tied; and a light fall of lace was the only covering to her magnificent arms and neck.

"Why, you look like a bride, Margaret," said I. "Surely, you must think Mrs. Linwood is going to have a party to-night. Never mind,—we will all admire you as much as if you were a bride. Let me twist some of these white rosebuds in your hair, to complete the illusion."

I took some from the vase that stood upon my toilet, and wreathed them in her black, shining locks. She clapped her hands joyously as she surveyed her image in the mirror; then laughed long and merrily, and asked if she did not look like a fool.

"Do you think there is any thing peculiar in my dress?" she suddenly asked, pulling the lace rather strenuously, considering its gossamer texture. "I do not wish to look ridiculous."

"No, indeed. It is like Edith's and mine. We always wear white muslin in summer, you know; but you never seemed to care much about dressing here in the country. I never saw you look so well, so handsome, Madge."

"Thank you. Let us go down. But, stop one moment. Do you think Mrs. Linwood will think it strange that I should come here with Mr. Regulus?"

"No, indeed."

"What do you think she will say about our—our engagement?"

"She will be very much pleased. I heard her say that if you should become attached to a man of worth and talents such as he possesses, you would become a good and noble woman."

"Did she say that? Heaven bless her, body and soul. I wonder how she could have any trust or faith in such a Greenland bear as I have been. I will not say am, for I think I have improved some, don't you?"

"Yes! and I believe it is only the dawn of a beautiful day of womanhood."

Margaret linked her arm in mine with a radiant smile and a vivid blush, and tripped down stairs with a lightness almost miraculous. Mr. Regulus was standing at the foot of the stairs leaning on the bannisters, in a musing attitude. As soon as he saw us, his countenance lighted up with a joyful animation, and he offered his arm to Margaret with eager gallantry. I wondered I had not discovered before how very good looking he was. Never, till he visited us in New York, had I thought of him but as an awkward, rather homely gentleman. Now his smile was quite beautiful, and as I accompanied them into the drawing-room, I thought they were quite a splendid-looking pair. Mrs. Linwood was in the front room, which was quite filled with guests and now illuminated for the night.

"Not now," I heard Margaret whisper, drawing back a little; "wait a few moments."

"Oh! it will be all over in a second," said he, taking her hand and leading her up to Mrs. Linwood, who raised her eyes with surprise at the unwonted ceremony of their approach, and the blushing trepidation of Margaret's manner.

"Permit me to introduce Mrs. Regulus," said he, with a low bow; and though he reddened to the roots of his hair, he looked round with a smiling and triumphant glance. Margaret curtsied with mock humility down to the ground, then breaking loose from his hand, she burst into one of her Madge Wildfire laughs, and attempted to escape from the room. But she was intercepted by Dr. Harlowe, who caught her by the arm and kissed her with audible good-will, declaring it was a physician's fee. The announcement of the marriage was received with acclamation and clapping of hands. You should have heard Edith laugh; it was like the chime of silvery bells. It was so astonishing she could not, would not believe it. It was exactly like one of Meg's wild pranks to play such a farce. But it was a solemn truth. Margaret, the bride of the morning, became the presiding queen of the evening; and had it not been for the lonely occupant of the library, how gaily and happily the hours would have flown by. How must the accents of mirth that echoed through the hall torture, if they reached his morbid and sensitive ear! If I could only go to him and tell him the cause of the unwonted merriment; but I dared not do it. It would be an infringement of the sacredness of his expiatory vow. He would know it, however, at the supper table; but no! he did not appear at the supper table. He sent a message to his mother, that he did not wish any, and the hospitable board was filled without him.

"I can hardly forgive you, Margaret," said Mrs. Linwood, "for not giving us an opportunity of providing a wedding feast. How much better it would have been to have had the golden ring and fatted calf of welcome, than this plain, every-day meal."

"Your every-day meals are better than usual wedding feasts," replied Margaret, "and I do not see why one should eat more on such an occasion than any other. You know I care nothing for the good things of this life, though Mr. Regulus may be disappointed."

"Indeed, you are mistaken," said Mr. Regulus, blushing. "I think so little of what I eat and drink, I can hardly tell the difference between tea and coffee."

This was literally true, and many a trick had been played upon him at his boarding place while seated at his meals, with an open book at the left side of his plate, and his whole mind engaged in its contents.

"Mrs. Regulus," said Dr. Harlowe, giving due accent to her new name, "is, as everyone must perceive, one of those ethereal beings who care for nothing more substantial than beefsteak, plum-pudding, and mince-pie. Perhaps an airy slice of roast turkey might also tempt her abstemiousness!"

"Take care, Doctor,—I have some one to protect me now against your lawless tongue," cried Madge, with inimitable good-humor.

"Come and dine with us to-morrow, and you shall prove my words a libel, if you please. I cannot say that my wife will be able to give you any thing better than Mrs. Linwood's poor fare, but it shall be sweetened by a heart-warm welcome, and we will drink the health of the bonny bride in a glass of ruby wine!"

And was it possible that no note was taken of the strange absence of the master of the table? Was it no check to social joy and convivial pleasure? It undoubtedly was, in the first place; but Margaret's exhilarating presence neutralized the effect produced by his absence on the spirits of the guests. The occasion, too, was so unexpected, so inspiring, that even I, sad and troubled as I was, could not help yielding in some degree to its gladdening influence.

After supper I had a long and delightful conversation with my metamorphosed preceptor. He spoke of his marriage with all the ingenuousness and simplicity of a child. He thanked me for having told him, when I parted from him in New York that he had an influence over Margaret that he had not dreamed of possessing. It made him, he said, more observant of her, and more careful of himself, till he ready found her a pleasant study. And somehow, when he had returned to his country home, it seemed dull without her; and he found himself thinking of her, and then writing to her, and then going to see her,—till, to his astonishment, he found himself a lover and a husband. His professorship, too, happened to come at the exact moment, for it emboldened him with hopes of success he could not have cherished as a village teacher.

"How the wild creature happened to love me, a grave, ungainly pedagogue, I cannot divine," he added; "but if gratitude, tenderness, and the most implicit confidence in her truth and affection can make her happy, she shall never regret her heart's choice."

Confidence did he say? Happy, thrice happy Margaret!