A Reconstructed Marriage. Barr Amelia E.

and Ducie appeared. "Ducie," he asked, "who told you there had been people staying in these rooms?"

      "The kitchen, sir; that is, the men and women in the kitchen. I was taken all aback, for my lady had told me – "

      "Do you know who the people were?"

      "Mrs. and Miss Crawford, Mrs. Laird and her granddaughter, Miss Greenhill."

      "Oh, they were relations, Dora," he said in a voice which indicated they had a right there, and that he was neither grieved nor astonished at their invasion of his apartments.

      "If you please, sir," interposed Ducie, "my lady's trunks were all opened by Mrs. Crawford and the rest. It gave me such a turn!"

      "The rest? Who do you mean?"

      "Miss Crawford, Mrs. Laird, and Miss Greenhill."

      "Then give the ladies their proper names."

      "Yes, sir, Mrs. and Miss Crawford, Mrs. Laird, and Miss Greenhill have opened and ransacked all the four trunks belonging to my lady, which were sent on here directly after her marriage. She had given me the keys of them, and when I saw them open it fairly took my breath away. I am afraid many things are destroyed, and some things that cost no end of money stolen. Not liking to be blamed for the same, I wish the matter looked into."

      "Stolen! You should be careful how you use such a word."

      "Sir, excuse me, but people who open locked trunks, and use and destroy what is not theirs are just as likely as not to carry off what they want. My character is in danger, sir. I wish the trunks examined."

      "I suppose you have been through them."

      "No, indeed, sir. When my lady went to her dinner, I called in one of the kitchen girls. I wanted a witness that I had never touched them."

      "How dare you make such charges, then?"

      "Ask my lady."

      "Dora, is there any truth in this girl's words?"

      "I fear she speaks too truly, Robert. I have only looked cursorily through one trunk, but I found much fine clothing spoiled, and I fear some jewelry gone. The ruby and sapphire ring given me by my college history class as a wedding gift is not in the jewel case it was packed in, and my turquoise necklace was scattered among my neckwear. It ought to have been in the jewel box."

      "Perhaps you forgot in the hurry of packing where you put it."

      "I was not hurried. Those four trunks were all leisurely and carefully packed, and the day we left Kendal for Paris – "

      "You mean our wedding-day?"

      "Yes."

      "Then why do you avoid saying so!"

      "I do not, but on that same day these four trunks were forwarded here. If you remember, I only took one trunk on our – wedding journey. I supposed these four would be quite safe in this house. But look here, Robert," she continued, lifting a set of valuable ermine furs, "these were given me by Mrs. Priestley. They were of the most exquisite purity, but they look now as if they had been dipped in a light solution of Indian ink."

      "The Glasgow rain," he answered carelessly. "Ducie, I do not think we shall blame you."

      "Sir, I will take no blame, either about things spoiled, or stolen."

      "There is no question of theft. If the ladies using these rooms for a day or two – "

      "For three weeks, sir."

      "Used also some clothing found in the rooms – "

      "Not found, sir, I beg pardon, but locked trunks were opened for them, which the men in the kitchen say is clear burglary – perhaps wishing to frighten me, sir. But this way, or that way, sir, things have been ruined that cost no end of money, and when I saw my lady's spoiled gowns and furs, and broken jewelry, they fairly took my breath away! Yes, sir, they did."

      "You may go now, Ducie."

      "I cannot and will not be blamed, sir, and I want that fact clear."

      "You may go, now. I have told you that once before. If I have to tell you again, you can leave the house altogether."

      "Ducie," said Theodora, "I wish you would look after clean linen for the beds and dressing tables."

      "What is the matter with the linen, Dora?"

      "It is not clean. It looks as if it had been used for two or three weeks."

      "Are you sure?"

      "Look at it! I can do without many things, Robert, but I cannot do without clean linen."

      "Of course not! It is awfully provoking. I tried so hard to have everything spotlessly clean and comfortable, but – " He turned away with an air of angry disappointment.

      Dora went to his side and praised again all he had done. She said she would forget all that was spoiled, or broken, or stolen for his sake, and for sweet love's sake, and she emphasized all her tender words with kisses and endearing names.

      And she found, as many women find, that the more she renounced her just displeasure and chagrin the harder it was to conciliate her husband's. Whether he enjoyed Dora's efforts to comfort him, or was really of that childish temper which gets more and more injured, as it is more and more consoled, it was at this stage of her married life impossible for Theodora to decide. However, in a little while he condescended to forgive Theodora for the annoyances others had caused him, and said: "It is later than I thought it. We have forgotten tea."

      "I do not want any."

      "I am going to speak to mother. Shall I send you a cup?"

      "No, thank you. Do not stop long, Robert."

      She went to the window and looked out into the dreary night. A heavy rain was falling, and not a star was visible in that muffled atmosphere. Sorrowful feelings pervaded all her thoughts, and she asked her soul eagerly for some password out of the tangle of small trials, which like brambles made her path difficult and painful. For the circumstances in which she so suddenly found herself, confounded and troubled her. Had Robert deceived her? Had she been deceived in Robert?

      It was, however, a consciousness of having fallen below herself, which hurt her worst of all. She had made concessions, where concession was wrong; she had made apologies for her husband, whereas he ought to have made them to her.

      "I have been weak," she whispered to her Inner Woman, and that truthful monitor replied:

      "To be weak is to be wicked."

      "I have resigned my just rights and my just anger."

      "And so have encouraged others to be unjust and unkind, and to sin against you."

      "And I have gained nothing by my cowardly self-sacrifice."

      "Nothing but humiliation and suffering, which you deserve."

      "What can I do?"

      "Retrace your first wrong step, in order to take your first right step."

      Ere this mental catechism was finished, Ducie entered the rooms with her arms full of clean linen, and Theodora said: "I see you have got the linen, Ducie. Make up my bed first."

      "Got it! Yes, ma'am, after a fight for it. The chambermaid was willing enough, but madame held the keys, and madame said the beds had been changed four days ago, and she would not have them changed but once a week. I refused to go away, and the girl went back to her, and was ordered to leave the room. Then I went, and told her that whether she was willing or unwilling I had to have clean linen, as the beds had been stripped, and Mr. Campbell wanted to go to sleep, and Mrs. Campbell had a headache. Then she flew into a passion, and I do not think I durst have stayed in her presence longer, but Mr. Campbell was heard coming, so she flung the keys to one of the young ladies, and told her to 'see to it.' Then I had a fresh fight for pillow-cases, and covers for the dressing tables, and I was told to remember that I would get no more linen for a week. 'Fresh linen once a week is the rule in this house,' the young lady said, 'and no rules will be broken for Mrs. Robert. You can tell her Miss Campbell said so.'"

      "Well, Ducie, we must look out for ourselves. I will buy linen to-morrow,