as he was of a rich family
he could afford to be, and they felt no slight by his neglect.

There was a change everywhere. The greatest change of all was in
Charles. From the night of the sleigh-ride his manner toward me was
totally altered. As far as I could discern, the change was a confirmed
one. The days grew monotonous, but my mind avenged itself by night in
dreams, which renewed our old relation in all its mysterious vitality.
So strong were their impressions that each morning I expected to
receive some token from him which would prove that they were not
lies. As my expectation grew cold and faint, the sense of a double
hallucination tormented me--the past and the present.

The winter was over. I passed it like the rest of Rosville, going out
when Alice went, staying at home when she stayed. It was all one what
I did, for my aspect was one of content.

Alice alone was unchanged; her spirits and pursuits were always the
same. Judging by herself, if she judged at all, she perceived no
change in us. Her theory regarding Charles was too firm to be shaken,
and all his oddity was a matter of course. As long as I ate, and
drank, and slept as usual, I too must be the same. He was not at home
much. Business, kept him at the mills, where he often slept, or out of
town. But the home machinery was still under his controlling hand. Not
a leaf dropped in the conservatory that he did not see; not a meal
was served whose slightest detail was not according to his desire. The
horses were exercised, the servants managed, the children kept within
bounds; nothing in the formula of our daily life was ever dropped, and
yet I scarcely ever saw him! When we met, I shared his attentions. He
gave me flowers; noticed my dress; spoke of the affairs of the day;
but all in so public and matter-of-fact a way that I thought I must be
the victim of a vicious sentimentality, or that he had amused himself
with me. Either way, the sooner I cured myself of my vice the better.
But my dreams continued.

"I miss something in your letters," father complained. "What is it?
Would you like to come home? Your mother is failing in health--she may
need you, though she says not."

I wrote him that I should come home.

"Are you prepared," he asked in return, "to remain at home for the
future? Have you laid the foundation of anything by which you can
abide contented, and employed? Veronica has been spending two months
in New York, with the family of one of