and unfeminine as I trust every fair
reader will deem it, I fear it pleased Mr. Oakhurst. Not but that he was
accustomed to a certain frank female admiration; but then it was of the
coulisse, and not of the cloister, with which he always persisted in
associating Mrs. Decker. To be addressed in this way by an invalid
Puritan, a sick saint with the austerity of suffering still clothing
her, a woman who had a Bible on the dressing-table, who went to church
three times a day, and was devoted to her husband, completely bowled him
over. He still held her hands as she went on,--

"Why didn't you come before? What were you doing in Marysville, in San
Jose, in Oakland? You see I have followed you. I saw you as you came
down the canyon, and knew you at once. I saw your letter to Joseph,
and knew you were coming. Why didn't you write to me? You will some
time!--Good-evening, Mr. Hamilton."

She had withdrawn her hands, but not until Hamilton, ascending the
staircase, was nearly abreast of them. He raised his hat to her with
well-bred composure, nodded familiarly to Oakhurst, and passed on. When
he had gone, Mrs. Decker lifted her eyes to Mr. Oakhurst. "Some day I
shall ask a great favor of you."

Mr. Oakhurst begged that it should be now.

"No, not until you know me better. Then, some day, I shall want you
to--kill that man!"

She laughed such a pleasant little ringing laugh, such a display of
dimples,--albeit a little fixed in the corners of her mouth,--such an
innocent light in her brown eyes, and such a lovely color in her cheeks,
that Mr. Oakhurst (who seldom laughed) was fain to laugh too. It was as
if a lamb had proposed to a fox a foray into a neighboring sheepfold.

A few evenings after this, Mrs. Decker arose from a charmed circle of
her admirers on the hotel piazza, excused herself for a few moments,
laughingly declined an escort, and ran over to her little cottage--one
of her husband's creation--across the road. Perhaps from the sudden
and unwonted exercise in her still convalescent state, she breathed
hurriedly and feverishly as she entered her boudoir, and once or twice
placed her hand upon her breast. She was startled on turning up the
light to find her husband lying on the sofa.

"You look hot and excited, Elsie love," said Mr. Decker. "You ain't took
worse, are you?"

Mrs Decker's face had paled, but now flushed again. "No," she said;
"only a little pain here," as she again placed her hand upon her
corsag