teaspoon. "A hypercritical person might consider, almost too frank."

Alice scanned his face closely while he spoke, and held her breath as
if in expectant suspense. Her countenance clouded once more. "You don't
realize, Theron," she said gravely; "your voice when you speak to me,
your look, your manner, they have all changed. You are like another
man--some man who never loved me, and doesn't even know me, much less
like me. I want to know what the end of it is to be. Up to the time of
your sickness last summer, until after the Soulsbys went away, I didn't
let myself get downright discouraged. It seemed too monstrous for
belief that you should go away out of my life like that. It didn't seem
possible that God could allow such a thing. It came to me that I had
been lax in my Christian life, especially in my position as a minister's
wife, and that this was my punishment. I went to the altar, to intercede
with Him, and to try to loose my burden at His feet. But nothing has
come of it. I got no help from you."

"Really, Alice," broke in Theron, "I explained over and over again to
you how preoccupied I was--with the book--and affairs generally."

"I got no assistance from Heaven either," she went on, declining the
diversion he offered. "I don't want to talk impiously, but if there is a
God, he has forgotten me, his poor heart-broken hand-maiden."

"You are talking impiously, Alice," observed her husband. "And you are
doing me cruel injustice, into the bargain."

"I only wish I were!" she replied; "I only wish to God I were!"

"Well, then, accept my complete assurance that you ARE--that your whole