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 of guilt, and used language which, as she thought, proved that his affections were withdrawn from her for ever.

Days passed away, and there was no relenting; Ernest was too proud to ask an explanation, and Alice scarcely knew of what she was accused. It was evident to her that her husband was alienated from her, no matter how, and in silence and in secrecy she formed her plans and executed them.

It was a bright, beautiful summer morning, when Alice Vernon stole softly down in the early twilight to bid adieu to the haunts and associations of her happiest hours. Her flowers looked lovingly upon her, and the tears that gemmed each petal and leaf were those of gratitude only, not sorrow. All was joyous, save the heart of one who was now, like Eve, to say farewell to her Paradise. But, unlike Eve, she went forth alone, with no manly arm to shield her, and no loving heart to interpose between herself and life’s sorrows. The lovely cottage home she was leaving had never seemed more attractive: yet she had scarcely realized that it was her own, so far had it exceeded her wildest expectations. With a few valued relics, and simple articles of clothing, which had been a part of her own poor dowry, she sought her humble city home.

Months, years had passed away. The slight difference which had produced this alienation had been increased by professed friends,&mdash;angry words borne to the ears of the parties, and exaggerated in the repetition. Alice’s only defensive weapon had been silence. It may seem strange that such a bond could thus easily be broken. One who is deeply read in the mysteries of love matters has, however, said:

We had pursued our way around the common, now one sea of