's death, or anything that concerned her
mother.

She was quiet even to passiveness in all her dealings with Philip;
he would have given not a little for some of the old bursts of
impatience, the old pettishness, which, naughty as they were, had
gone to form his idea of the former Sylvia. Once or twice he was
almost vexed with her for her docility; he wanted her so much to
have a will of her own, if only that he might know how to rouse her
to pleasure by gratifying it. Indeed he seldom fell asleep at nights
without his last thoughts being devoted to some little plan for the
morrow, that he fancied she would like; and when he wakened in the
early dawn he looked to see if she were indeed sleeping by his side,
or whether it was not all a dream that he called Sylvia 'wife.'

He was aware that her affection for him was not to be spoken of in
the same way as his for her, but he found much happiness in only
being allowed to love and cherish her; and with the patient
perseverance that was one remarkable feature in his character, he
went on striving to deepen and increase her love when most other men
would have given up the endeavour, made themselves content with half
a heart, and turned to some other object of attainment. All this
time Philip was troubled by a dream that recurred whenever he was
over-fatigued, or otherwise not in perfect health. Over and over
again in this first year of married life he dreamt this dream;
perhaps as many as eight or nine times, and it never varied. It was
always of Kinraid's return; Kinraid was full of life in Philip's
dream, though in his waking hours he could and did convince himself
by all the laws of probability that his rival was dead. He never
remembered the exact sequence of events in that terrible dream after
he had roused himself, with a fight and a struggle, from his
feverish slumbers. He was generally sitting up in bed when he found
himself conscious, his heart beating wildly, with a conviction of
Kinraid's living presence somewhere near him in the darkness.
Occasionally Sylvia was disturbed by his agitation, and would
question him about his dreams, having, like most of her class at
that time, great faith in their prophetic interpretation; but Philip
never gave her any truth in his reply.

After all, and though he did not acknowledge it even to himself, the
long-desired happiness was not so delicious and perfect as he had
anticipated. Many have felt the same in their first year of