Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life.
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