sant recollections or ill feeling because of the
recent scene. He was not deceived. He had lived with her for more than
fifteen years, and in that time he had appraised her correctly. Now,
however, it suited him best to accept her caresses, and to return them
with a show of warmth, which made the blood course faster through her
veins, the more so because she had expected him to be angry, and
because he rarely exhibited much feeling. This wily man well knew the
weak spot in this woman's armor, and when he most desired to sway her
actions, he first touched her heart.

"Well, _cara mia_, are you glad to have me with you again?" He folded
her close to his breast, and kissed her lips. She nestled within his
arms, and returned the salute rapturously. Presently he spoke again.
"You were naughty, down stairs, little one?"

There was scarcely a reproach in his voice; he spoke rather as an
indulgent parent chides an erring, but beloved child. She looked up
into his eyes and merely murmured,

"You will forgive me?"

Some may doubt that the warmer demonstrations of love could survive
the destroying influences of a companionship covering so many years,
and be still expressed with the fervor of youth. To such I say, what
has not come within your own experience is not necessarily false.
Love, especially in woman, is a hardy plant and will blossom and
flower, long after its earlier excitations have ceased to exist. The
beauty of form, and attractiveness of manner, which first arouses the
tender passion within our breast, may pass away from the object of our
admiration, and yet our love may be deeper, fuller, and wider than at
its inception. Yea, it may even retain its fullest demonstrativeness.
In many cases it thrives most by harsh treatment, where it might
expire by over-tending. Madame Medjora's affection was of this sort.
Had her husband yielded to her all that she demanded, she would long
ago have been surfeited, and not improbably she would have left him.
This, however, he had never done. She had always feared that he did
not love her as she yearned to be loved, and therefore she was ever
ready with cajolery, flattery, and other means familiar to women, to
win from him a fuller responsiveness.

At this moment, intoxicated by his caresses, she spoke from her heart
when she asked him to forgive her. The slight reproof of his words,
however gently spoken, was the tiny bit of cloud upon her present
clear sky of joy. She wished