e, and get it opened downstairs."

Francis dared not object, but his wife's course of action made him
sulky. He did not see why she should not have left him the bottle during
her absence: he could have broken its neck on the fender. But he knew
very well that she could not trust him to drink only in moderation if he
were left alone with the bottle; and, like a wise woman, she therefore
took it with her.

She was back again in a few minutes, bringing with her fuel and lights.
Francis was lying in his bed, his face turned sullenly to the wall. Mary
poured a little brandy into a glass, and brought it to him to drink.

"You will feel better when you have had that," she said, "and you shall
have some more in your tea if you want it. Now, I'm going to light up
the fire."

So well did she perform her task that in a very short time the flames
were leaping up the chimney, the shadows dancing cheerfully over the
ceiling, the kettle hissing and puffing on the fire. The sight and sound
drew Francis once more from his bed to the basket chair, where he sat
and lazily watched his wife as she cut bread, made tea, fried bacon and
eggs, with the ease and celerity of a woman to whom domestic offices are
familiar. When at last the tea-table was arranged, he drew up his chair
to it with a sigh of positive pleasure.

"How homelike and comfortable it looks: Why don't you always stay with
me, Mary, and keep me straight?"

"You want so much keeping straight, Francis," she said, but a slight
smile flickered about the comers of her lips.

It was characteristic of the pair that he allowed her to wait on him,
hand and foot: he let her cut the bread, pour out the tea, carry his
plate backwards and forwards, and pour the brandy into his cup, without
a word of remonstrance. Only when he had been well supplied and was not
likely to want anything more just then, did he say to her----

"Sit down, Mary, and get yourself a cup of tea."

Mary did not seem to resent the condescending nature of this invitation.
She thanked him simply, and sat down; pouring out for herself the dregs
of the tea, and eating a piece of dry bread with it. Francis had the
grace to remonstrate with her on the poverty of her fare.

"It doesn't matter what I eat now," she said. "I have the best of
everything where I'm living, and I don't feel hungry."

"I hope you're comfortable where you are," said Mr. Trent, politely.

"Yes, I'm very comfortable, thank you, Francis. Tho