not look at me like that,
as though I have murdered your happiness. What have you done, you poor
child, that you should suffer like this for my sake. For the sake of
my future peace of mind I entreat you to listen to me."

And then, as Fay did not refuse, Margaret took the listless little
hand and told her all. And she judged wisely in doing so, for it was
out of her great pity for him that Fay learned to forgive her husband,
and that the vague hope arose in her heart that she might comfort and
win him back. And when Margaret had finished her sad story, Fay put
her arms round her and kissed her.

"Oh, I am so sorry for you; how unhappy you must have been when you
gave him up; but it was noble of you, and you did it for his sake.
Forgive me if I wronged you, for when you were in that room talking to
him, I felt angry and bitter with him and you too; but I see it is no
one's fault, only we are all so unhappy, please forgive me, for indeed
you are better than I."

"There is nothing to forgive," replied Margaret, gently. "Yes, I tried
to do my duty, and if your husband has failed in his, remember that he
is not patient by nature, that men are not like us. One day he will be
yours, and yours solely, and then you will be able to think of me
without bitterness." Then, taking the little creature in her arms, she
added, "Good-bye, be brave and patient and generous for your husband's
sake, and it will all come right," and with a low word of blessing she
let her go.

And when Hugh woke that evening from his long trance-like sleep he
found his Wee Wifie as usual beside him.

She had been sitting there all day, with her great tearless eyes fixed
on vacancy; refusing to take rest or food, never moving except to drop
her head still lower over her clasped hands.

"You are tired, Wee Wifie," he said, as she stooped over him and asked
how he felt. "You will wear yourself out, my child;" and he felt for
the little hand that generally lay so near his own. Fay put it in his,
and bent over him with an unsteady smile.

"I am not so very tired, and I like to take care of you," she said,
with a quiver in her sweet voice. "I promised in sickness as well as
health, you know; let me do my duty, dear," and Hugh was silent.

But that night, while Hugh slept, and Margaret knelt praying pitiful
prayers for Fay, Fay, tossing in her lonely chamber, sobbed in the
desolate darkness:

"Oh, if it would please God that, when the summer has come, b