e.

"Can I do any thing for you?" said Mr. Decker, rising with affectionate
concern.

"Run over to the hotel and get me some brandy, quick!"

Mr. Decker ran. Mrs Decker closed and bolted the door, and then, putting
her hand to her bosom, drew out the pain. It was folded foursquare, and
was, I grieve to say, in Mr. Oakhurst's handwriting.

She devoured it with burning eyes and cheeks until there came a step
upon the porch; then she hurriedly replaced it in her bosom, and
unbolted the door. Her husband entered. She raised the spirits to her
lips, and declared herself better.

"Are you going over there again to-night?" asked Mr. Decker
submissively.

"No," said Mrs. Decker, with her eyes fixed dreamily on the floor.

"I wouldn't if I was you," said Mr. Decker with a sigh of relief. After
a pause, he took a seat on the sofa, and, drawing his wife to his side,
said, "Do you know what I was thinking of when you came in, Elsie?"
Mrs. Decker ran her fingers through his stiff black hair, and couldn't
imagine.

"I was thinking of old times, Elsie: I was thinking of the days when
I built that kerridge for you, Elsie,--when I used to take you out to
ride, and was both hoss and driver. We was poor then, and you was sick,
Elsie; but we was happy. We've got money now, and a house; and you're
quite another woman. I may say, dear, that you're a NEW woman. And
that's where the trouble comes in. I could build you a kerridge, Elsie;
I could build you a house, Elsie--but there I stopped. I couldn't build
up YOU. You're strong and pretty, Elsie, and fresh and new. But somehow,
Elsie, you ain't no work of mine!"

He paused. With one hand laid gently on his forehead, and the other
pressed upon her bosom, as if to feel certain of the presence of her
pain, she said sweetly and soothingly,--

"But it was your work, dear."

Mr. Decker shook his head sorrowfully. "No, Elsie, not mine. I had the
chance to do it once, and I let it go. It's done now--but not by me."

Mrs. Decker raised her surprised, innocent eyes to his. He kissed her
tenderly, and then went on in a more cheerful voice,--

"That ain't all I was thinking of, Elsie. I was thinking that maybe you
give too much of your company to that Mr. Hamilton. Not that there's any
wrong in it, to you or him; but it might make people talk. You're the
only one here, Elsie," said the master-carpenter, looking fondly at his
wife, "who isn't talked about, whose work ain't inspected or con