There was a coldness in his sphere that chilled her; a rigid
propriety of speech and action that inspired too much respect and
deference. Gradually, however, love for the maiden, (if by such a
term it might be called) fused his hard exterior, and his manner
became so softened, gentle and affectionate, that she yielded up to
him a most precious treasure--the love of her young and trusting
heart.

Just twenty years old, as we have said, was Madeline when she
passed, as the bride of Mr. Leslie, from the warm home-nest in which
she had reposed so happily, to become the mistress of an elegant
mansion. Though in age a woman, she was, in many things, but a child
in feelings. Tenderly cared for and petted by her father, her spirit
had been, in a measure, sustained by love as an aliment.

One like Madeline is not fit to be the wife of such a man as Edward
Leslie. For him, a cold, calculating woman of the world were a
better companion. One who has her own selfish ends to gain; and who
can find, in fashion, gaiety, or personal indulgence, full
compensation for a husband's love.

Madeline was scarcely the bride of a week, ere shadows began to fall
upon her heart; and the form that interposed itself between her and
the sunlight, was the form of her husband. As a daughter, love had
ever gone forth in lavish expression. This had been encouraged by
all the associations of home. But, from the beginning of her wedded
life, she felt the manner of her husband like the weight of a hand
on her bosom, repressing her heart's outgushing impulses.

It was on the fifth evening of their marriage, about the early