Year: 1877

of our prosperity, but our happiness.
Poor deceived Uncle Jscelyn He little
knew that was just longing to throw
myself into his arms and make clean
breast of all our extravaganza and conse-
quent troubles. How envied him going
back to quiet, peaceful Conington How
1 wished Henry and / were just one-half
as happy as he was


However, our struggle then was Just
beginning, for we sank deeper and deep
er. 1t was like n quicksand-the more
we struggled the deeper we got. We
dare not openly retrench-we lacked the
moral courage; and our private attempts
were the merest drops in the ocean of
that mighty sea into which we had drift
ed, simply and solely because we had at
the outset ignored the golden rule, so inn
pressed upon me by Uncle Jocelyn, to
live within our means and to pay ready
money. And what had all our extrava-
gance done for us9 We had large Wis
iting list, and L periodically paid host
of visits, always hoping to find my friends
from home. We had a pretty house,
and were able to entertain as elegantly
as our neighbors. had heaps of fash
ionable dresses and useless finery and
Henry was as perfect as ever in my eyes;
but we were both miserable debt stared
us in the face whichever way we turned !;
and how long we could keep our credit
ors at bay was beginning to be source
of considerable anxiety to us.


Henry's position in his business de-
pended solely upon the pleasure of the
senior partners. There were curious
conditions in their agreement with him !;
and if they heard of his embarrassment
no doubt it would injure him greatly and
might make them consider themselves
justified in perhaps something far more
serious than remonstrance. o that we
had acted differently that the past
could be lived over again with our pres
ent experience.


Once or twice l thought of confding
our woes to my mother but dared not;
intuitively knew that, although in his
prosperity Henry was a great favorite
with her, she would regard him very diff
ferently if misfortunes came and / felt
L could bear anything rather than hear
him blamed, especially as in my most
inmost heart / knew L was equally if not
actually more to blame than he was for
now saw clearly how true it was what
Uncle Jocelyn said, that wife can make
or mar her husband. If 1 had quietly
set to work Mt the outset, and advised
him Alright, all would have been well !;
but now every day brought some hateful
dun or threatening letter. A ring at the
bell would cause me to start, and the
sound of mans voice in the hall parley-
ing with Sophy was enough to make me
tremble all over.


"The crash could not be STAYED off for
long; crisis must shortly come" So
said Henry one lovely June evening,
when we were sitting disconsolately dis
cussing all manner of wild, impossible
schemes. 1t was an exquisite night; the
heat of the day was over; not a breath of
wind stirred the delicate blossoms of the
plants which adorned our balcony, and
the moon was rising in all her liquid
loveliness, casting clear, cool light over
the scene. Everything looked calm and
quiet and peaceful; the pulses of the
great city were hushed; there was moth
ing to break the silence except poor
Henry's hopeless tones repeating, "a
crisis can't be far off, Kate. What we
are to do / know not !"


We fancied the amazement of our
friends-the nine days wonder our mis-
fortunes would cause, little dreaming
that our ending had long been confident
ly predicted by them, and that our hos
pitality had been roundly censured and
condemned by the very partakers of it.
Still less did we imagine that Mr.. Trevor.
so far from being favorably impressed
Il
fully aware as he was with the exact
amount of Henry's income-shocked and
sorry to see that Henry Arden had mar
ried a wife with so little sense and judg-
ment; and no second glance from his
keen eyes was wanting to prove to him
how terribly beyond it we were living.
His observations had satisfied him that
serious embarrassments must ensue;
consequently he and his partners had be-
slowed the desired post and increased
emoluments upon one who, if he needed
it less than we did, certainly understood
its value better.


SO not one except my mother and
Uncle Jocelyn would be surprised, though
we imagined SO differently, as we sat on
and on in our pretty drawing room talk
tie W. ehO oubJ'Nb uhO POnNtI-
ing what we could possibly do. We
should have to sell off everything. to
leave Amberley Villas, and to begin life
over again. Henry's prospects, of course,
would be seriously damaged, and we
could never hope to thoroughly regain
the position our own folly had deprived
us Of. 1t was not pleasant to think of;
but there could be no shutting out of
the question now; it must be met and
answered Immediately; what were we to
do9 Nothing very definite could be ar
rived at; but one thing was quite clear
the change could not be far off.


can never describe the anxiety of the
days that followed, nor tell the agony it
cost me to write and tell my mother that
we were hopelessly, desperately involved,
and that our difficulties were so great it
was impossible for us ever TO surmount
them. What would she sayg What
would everybody say9 Worst of all,
what would Uncle Jocelyn say? For the
worst had come TO the worst-our house
was our own no longer; man-strange
and to me most terrible-was comforta-
III L.