and sought pleasure in their pursuits, while the wife, seldom seen
abroad, buried herself at home, and gave her very life for her
children.

But, even maternal love could not feed for very many years the flame
of her life. The oil was too nearly exhausted when that new supply
came. For a time, the light burned clearly; then it began to fail,
and ere the mother's tasks were half done, it went out in darkness.

How heavy the shadows which then fell upon the household and upon
the heart of Edward Leslie! As he stood, alone, in the chamber of
death, with his eyes fixed upon the pale, wasted countenance, no
more to quicken with life, and felt on his neck the clinging arms
that were thrown around it a few moments before the last sigh of
mortality was breathed; and still heard the eager, "Kiss me, Edward,
once, before I die!"--a new light broke upon him,--and he was
suddenly stung by sharp and self-reproaching thoughts. Had he not
killed her, and, by the slowest and most agonizing process by which
murder can be committed? There was in his mind a startling
perception that such was the awful crime of which he had been
guilty.

Yes, there were shadows on the heart of Edward Leslie; shadows that
never entirely passed away.