his moody, accusing spirit had to be subdued. But
he was coming right, and at last got right, as to will. Next came the
question as to how he should begin. He thought of many things to say,
yet feared to say them, lest his wife should meet his advances with a
cold rebuff. At last, leaning towards her, and taking hold of the
linen bosom upon which she was at work, he said, in a voice carefully
modulated with kindness:--

"You are doing the work very beautifully, Mary."

Mrs. Lee made no reply. But her husband did not fail to observe that
she lost, almost instantly, that rigid erectness with which she had
been sitting, nor that the motion of her needle had ceased. "My shirts
are better made, and whiter than those of any other man in our shop,"
said Lee, encouraged to go on.

"Are they?" Mrs. Lee's voice was low, and had in it a slight
huskiness. She did not turn her face, but her husband saw that she
leaned a little toward him. He had broken through the ice of reserve,
and all was easy now. His hand was among the clouds, and a few feeble
rays were already struggling through the rift it had made.

"Yes, Mary," he answered softly, "and I've heard it said more than
once, what a good wife Andrew Lee must have."

Mrs. Lee turned her face towards her husband. There was light it it,
and light in her eye. But there was something in the expression of the
countenance that puzzled him a little.

"Do you think so?" she asked quite soberly.

"What a question!" ejaculated Andrew Lee, starting up and going around
to the side of the table where his wife was sitting.--"What a
question, Mary!" he repeated, as he stood before her.

"Do you?" It was all she said.

"Yes, darling," was the warmly-spoken answer, and he stooped down and
kissed her.--"How strange that you should ask me such a question!"

"If you would only tell me so now and then, Andrew, it would do me
good." And Mrs. Lee arose, and leaning against the manly breast of her
husband, stood and wept.

What a strong light broke in upon the mind of Andrew Lee. He had never
given to his faithful wife even the small reward of praise for all the
loving interest she had manifested daily, until doubt of his love had
entered her soul, and made the light thick darkness. No wonder that
her face grew clouded, nor that what he considered moodiness and
ill-nature took possession of her spirit.

"You are good and true, Mary. My own dear wife. I am proud of you--I
love you--and my