oul he
cried out that she was a mere child and no mate for him, and that he
wanted Margaret.

If he had only told his young wife, if he had confided to her pure
soul the secret that burdened his, child as she was, she would have
understood and pitied and forgiven him; the very suffering would have
given her added womanliness and gained his respect, and through that
bitter knowledge, honestly told and generously received, a new and
better Fay would have risen to win her husband's love.

But he did not tell her--such a thought never entered his mind. So day
by day her youth and innocent gayety only alienated him more, until he
grew to look upon her as a mere child, who must be petted and humored,
but who could never be his friend.

Yes, he was bringing home his bride to Redmond Hall, and that bride
was not Margaret. In place of Margaret's grand face, framed in its
dead-brown hair and deep, pathetic eyes, was a childish face, with a
small rosebud mouth that was just now quivering and plaintive.

"Dear Hugh, I am so very tired, and you will not talk to me," in a sad
babyish voice.

"Will talking rest you, Birdie," asked Hugh, dropping his paper and
taking the listless little hand kindly.

Fay drooped her head, for she was ashamed of the bright drops that
stole through her lashes from very weariness. Hugh would think her
babyish and fretful. She must not forget she was Lady Redmond; so she
answered without looking up,

"We have been traveling since day-break this morning, you know, Hugh,
and it is all so fresh and strange to me, and I want to hear your
voice to make it seem real somehow; perhaps I feel stupid because I am
tired, but I had an odd fancy just now that it was all a dream, and
that I should wake up in my little room at the cottage and find myself
again Fay Mordaunt."

"Is not the new name prettier, dear?" observed her husband, gently.

Fay colored and hesitated, and finally hid her face in shy fashion on
Hugh's shoulder, while she glanced at the little gold ring that shone
so brightly in the dusk.

"Fay Redmond," she whispered. "Oh yes, it is far prettier," and a
tender smile came to her face, an expression of wonderful beauty. "Did
ever name sound half so sweet as that?"

"What is my Wee Wifie thinking about?" asked Hugh at last, rousing
himself with difficulty from another musing fit.

Fay raised her head with a little dignity.

"I wish you would not call me that, Hugh."

"Not call you what?"