[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

“Who shall say that we are out of the reach of fashionable gayeties?” asked
Vaughn, merrily, as he entered the boudoir where Neria, pale and pensive, sat
reading aloud to Francia, who wrought at some embroidery secretly destined to
adorn those “wedding clothes” over which the idlest little maiden grows industrious.

“What is it?” asked Francia, eagerly, while Neria raised her languid eyes to
her husband's face.

“I have been to Carrick,” said he, “and in the post-office was addressed by
Jones Merton, a young gentleman pursuing the profession of blacksmith in that
place, but just now more interested in the management of a ball to be given to-morrow
evening at the Mermaid's Cave, in honor of the fishermen who leave
home upon the following day to be gone all summer. Mr. Merton, after giving
these particulars, closed with a pressing invitation to me to be present myself,
and `bring my folks.' I told him I should be most happy to attend, but feared
that the ladies of my family would be unable to accompany me. Did I do
right?”

“No, indeed, papa, you did very wrong. I should like of all things to go,”
exclaimed Francia. “Shouldn't you, Neria?”

“I don't believe I should,” said Neria, slightly smiling. “But I will go to
chaperon you, if Sieur likes to take us.”

“No, indeed, Neria; I shouldn't think of letting you make such a sacrifice;
nor can I imagine any combination of person and place so incongruous as you
in the ball-room of the Mermaid's Cave,” said Vaughn. “If Franc likes to go,
I will take her. The society of Carrick is not exigeante, in the matter of chaperons.”

“Then I am not incongruous, papa,” pouted Francia, so comically that her
father kissed her ripe lips, as he answered,

“You are a little girl, and it is of small consequence what you do or leave
undone.”

“I am eighteen, and not so very little”—persisted Francia—“not so little
but that I can put my arms about your neck, for all your six feet of dignity,
monsieur le père.”

She suited the action to the word, and suddenly found herself lifted from the
floor and borne round the room in a very secure, if not a very dignified, position.

“There, now go and ask your mamma what you shall wear, and don't be too

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

fine for the company,” said her father, replacing her upon the ottoman where he
had found her, and seating himself in such a position as to get Neria's profile
against the green background of the hangings.

“My mamma, indeed!” exclaimed Francia, laying her bright head upon Neria's
lap and looking up into her face. “Well, respected parent, what shall I
wear?”

“Something that may be washed afterward, I should say,” rejoined Neria.

“O, you fastidious child! I dare say the people will be just as nice as those
we met last winter, only a little less cultivated.”

“And a little more fishy,” suggested her father.

“Well, Neria can bear to go to their houses and stay whole hours, seeing to
sick people and babies and all; so I think I may dance with them one evening!”

“Yes, indeed; I was only jesting,” said Neria. “I have no doubt you will
enjoy yourself very much; but I wouldn't wear anything elaborate. White
muslin, with a few blue ribbons, will be quite sufficient.”

“And don't put on your pearls,” suggested Vaughn, “or they will think you
mean oysters.”

“Or your coral, lest they should think you mean lobsters,” added Neria.

“You horrid aristocrats!” cried Francia, indignantly. “And yet you both
see more of these people than I do, or could bear to.”

“Neria goes among them, not for her own pleasure, but for their good,” suggested
Vaughn, significantly.

Franc blushed a little, but put the lesson aside with a blithe laugh.

“And so do I,” declared she. “I am going to give them a lesson in dancing.”

“I beg your pardon, my dear; here is a letter for you which I forgot until
this moment,” said Vaughn, suddenly, drawing from his pocket and handing to
Francia a letter addressed in Mr. Chilton's bandwriting.

“Thank you, papa,” said she, shyly taking it from her father's hand and running
away to read it.

Left alone with him, Neria glanced doubtfully at her husband, who was attentively
regarding her, then, opening the book in her hand, asked,

“Shall I read to you from `Aurora Leigh?' ”

“Not just now, dear. I would rather have you talk. Neria, you grow paler
and thinner every day; your cheerfulness is forced, and you are never joyous.
All your occupations are matters of resolution, not of inclination. You are silent,
thoughtful, and would always avoid me, did you not force yourself to endure
me. You are totally changed from the Neria who married me two months
ago, and I have seen the change working, day by day, from the very morning of
our arrival here. Now, dear child, explain it to me, as you might to your own
father. Forget, if you will, that I have ever claimed another relation to you,
and may God and you forgive me if I judged wrong in assuming that relation.”

He took her hand in his. It was cold as death, and every trace of color had
left her face, while, in the large, luminous eyes, such a depth of sorrow, doubt,
apprehension, expressed themselves, that Vaughn, covering his face with his
hands, groaned aloud.

“O, Neria, Neria,” cried he, “you will die, and it is my love that is killing
you.”

Neria softly laid her hand upon his head.

“Have a little patience, Sieur,” said she. “It is all so new to me—I am so
young. I did not know what love meant—other love than that I had always

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

felt for you. I am very heartless, I think—I believe I cannot love in the way
you would like me to, and I am afraid that, by trying so much, I have done harm
to the love I should naturally have given you. I am afraid, Sieur, I never should
have married any one, but have been your child, and loved you as I could.”

“Miserable, selfish, coarse-natured creature that I am,” muttered Vaughn.
“What have I done? Because an angel hovered near me, I must grasp and
bind her to my side, trying to make her as myself. Neria, I see it now—I see
better than you can see yourself, the struggle that has almost killed you; I feel
your sublime self-renunciation and my own blind selfishness far more acutely
than you could ever feel them. Psyche and Silenus were as well matched—I
see now, I see it all; and, if I had not been love-blinded, I had seen it sooner.
I have watched you from day to day, and said, `she is weary,' `she is ill,' `she
is pre-occupied;' `to-morrow, or the day after, it will be different, and in the
end she will love me.' Now, I see that this will never be, and pray God that I
see it in time. Neria, from this moment I am your father, your brother, your
friend—what you will. I shall never again alarm you with a love that you cannot
comprehend, and with which you have no sympathy, but show you only an
affection that you can return in kind. We will forget the fatal error of our marriage,
and go back to the sweet relations of the old time. You and Francia will
be my children, and I will be a tender father to both. Does this please
you?”

Through the forced calm of his tone pierced the sharp cry of a wounded and
rejected love—the cry of a man's strong heart crushed back upon itself in all
the vigor of its ardent life—the cry of a broken hope.

Dimly as the words of an unknown tongue, this voice reached Neria's heart,
and, though she could not comprehend its suffering, she instinctively tried to
solace it.

“But we loved each other very much in those days, Sieur,” said she; “and
so do I love you very much now. Why will you not be as happy to return to
the old quiet way of loving? I shall ride and walk with you, and you will read
and talk with me, and all will be well again. Do you not like it as well?”

“As well, and better, my Psyche, if you will be as happy as you were then,”
said Vaughn, raising to meet her gaze, his face pale, but resolutely calm.

“I will be as happy as you could wish,” said Neria, joyously, as she lightly
kissed his brow. “And you?”

“And I shall be happy,” said Vaughn, not returning the caress.

So Neria, who would silently have broken her heart and died, rather than
consciously embitter any existence that God had created, accepted the sacrifice
of a man's life as simply as she would a flower; and Vaughn, devoting himself
to a future of constant watchfulness, self-restraint, and feigned content, knew
that his sacrifice must remain unappreciated, unthanked, forever—for not the
most implacable coquette is so pitiless to the man who worships her as is the
wife who knows not how to love.

With the rapid prescience of strong emotion, Vaughn, sitting calmly at his
wife's feet, saw his future life outspread before him, and resolved upon even the
minutiæ of his own conduct. Like Francia? No; she could never be like
Francia, nor must he permit himself the caresses with her that he offered to his
child. A guarded and undemonstrative affection was all that must be permitted
to appear; a thoughtful attention to her wishes and comfort; the careful training
of her intellect in study and conversation; a cautious enjoyment of her society;
a great and constant care to hide every symptom of suffering or

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

discontent. So far he had arranged the weary programme, when Neria's voice, blither
than it had sounded for many a day, said,

“I am so glad you thought to say this to me, Sieur; and now let us forget it,
and quietly return to our old ways. Don't you think I ought to go to the ball
with Franc?”

Vaughn stared at her as might a man preparing himself for death, if asked
whether he preferred his cravat tied in a bow or a knot.

Neria smiled merrily.

“A penny for your thoughts,” said she. “I was speaking of the ball at Carrick.”

“O, certainly, the ball. I promised to take Franc, I believe.”

“Yes, but ought I not to go with her?”

“It is not at all necessary, so far as she is concerned; but if you fancy it on
your own account, go, by all means,” said Vaughn, quietly.

“I believe I will. I feel so gay, Sieur, now that I may be myself once
more.”

Vaughn smiled back her smile, and then abruptly left the room, feeling that
he could bear no more just then.