The room was bright and still; the lamp shone clear; the fire glowed; warm-hued curtains muffled the war of gust and sleet without; books, music, a wide-armed seat and a woman’s wistful face invited me; but none of these things could satisfy me just then, and though I drew my wife nearer, smoothed her shining hair, and kissed the reproachful lips, I did not vield.

            “You must let me go, Agatha, for the great German artist is here, I had rather give a year of life than miss this meeting with him. I have devoted many evenings to you, and though this hour is yours I shall venture to take it, and offer you a morning call instead. Here are novels, new songs, an instrument, embroidery and a dog, who can never offend by moody silence or unpalatable conversation — what more can a contented woman ask, surely not an absent- minded husband?”

            “Yes, just that and nothing more, for she loves him, and he can supply a want that none of these things can. See how pretty I have tried to make myself for you alone; stay, Max, and make me happy.”

            “Dear, I shall find my pretty wife to-morrow, but the great painter will be gone; let me go, Agatha, and make me happy.”

            She drew herself from my arm, saying with a flash of the eye — “Max, you are a tyrant!”

            “Am I? then you made me so with too much devotion.”

            “Ah, if you loved me as I loved there would be no selfishness on your part, no reproaches on mine. What shall I do to make myself dearer, Max?”

            “Give me more liberty.”

            “Then I should lose you entirely, and lead the life of a widow. Oh, Max, this is hard, this is bitter, to give all and receive nothing in return.”

            She spoke passionately, and the truth of her reproach stung me, for I answered with that coldness that always wounded her:

            “Do you count an honest name, sincere regard and much gratitude as nothing? I have given you these, and ask only peace and freedom in return. I desire to do justice to you and to mvself, but I am not like you, never can be, and vou must not hope it. You say love is all-powerful, prove it upon me, I am willing to be the fondest of husbands if I can; teach me, win me in spite of myself, and make me what you will; but leave me a little time to live and labor for that which is dearer to me than your faulty lord and master can ever be to you.”

            “Shall I do this?” and her face kindled as she put the question. “Yes, here is an amusement for you, use w hat arts you will, make your love irresistible, soften mv hard nature, convert me into vour shadow, suhdue me till I come at your call like a pet dog, and when you make vour presence more powerful than painting I will own that you have won your will and made your theory good.”

            I was smiling as I spoke, for the twelve labors of I Icrcules seemed less impossible than this, but Agatha watched me with her glittering eyes; and answered slowly —

            “I will do it. Now go, and enjoy your liberty while you mav, but remember when I have conquered that you dared me to it, and keep your part of the compact. Promise this.” She offered me her hand with a strange expression — I took it, said good-night, and hurried away, still smiling at the curious challenge given and accepted.


 
              

The Domestic Feud Culminates

             
            Agatha told me to enjoy my liberty, and I tried to do so that very night, but failed most signally, for I had not been an hour in the brilliant company gathered to meet the celebrated guest before I found it impossible to banish the thought of my solitary wife. I had left her often, yet never felt disturbed by more than a passing twinge of that uncomfortable bosom friend called conscience; but now the interest of the hour seemed lessened by regret, for through varying conversation held with those about me, mingling with the fine music that I heard, looking at me from every woman’s face, and thrusting itself into my mind at every turn, came a vague, disturbing self-reproach, which slowly deepened to a strong anxiety. My attention wandered, words seemed to desert me, fancy to be frostbound, and even in the presence of the great man I had so ardently desired to see I could neither enjoy his society nor play my own part well. More than once I found myself listening for Agatha’s voice; more than once I looked behind me expecting^to see her figure, and more than once I resolved to go, with no desire to meet her.

            “It is an acute fit of what women call nervousness; I will not yield to it,” I thought, and plunged into the gayest group I saw, supped, talked, sang a song, and broke down; told a witty story, and spoiled it; laughed and tried to bear myself like the lightest-hearted guest in the rooms; but it would not do, for stronger and stronger grew the strange longing to go home, and soon it became uncontrollable. A foreboding fear that something had happened oppressed me, and suddenly leaving the festival at its height I drove home as if life and death depended on the saving of a second. Like one pursuing or pursued I rode, eager only to be there; yet when I stood on my own threshold I asked myself wonderingly, “Why such haste?” and stole in ashamed at my early return. The storm beat without, but within all was serene and still, and with noiseless steps I went up to the room where I had left my wife, pausing a moment at the half open door to collect myself, lest she should see the disorder of both mind and mien. Looking in I saw her sitting with neither book nor work beside her, and after a momentary glance began to think my anxiety had not been causeless, for she sat erect and motionless as an in animate figure of intense thought; her eyes were fixed, face colorless, w it h an expression of iron determination, as if even energy of mind and body w ere w rought up to the achievement of a single purpose. There was something in the rigid attitude and stern aspect of this familiar shape that filled me w ith dismay, and found vent in the abrupt exclamation,

            “Agatha, what is it?”

            She sprang up like a steel spring w hen the pressure is removed, saw me, and struck her hands together w ith a wild gesture of surprise, alarm or pleasure, which I could not tell, for in the act she dropped into her seat white and breathless as if smitten with sudden death. Unspeakably shocked, I bestirred myself till she recovered, and though pale and spent, as if with some past exertion, soon seemed quite herself again.

            “Agatha, what were you thinking of w hen I came in?” I asked, as she sat leaning against me with half closed eyes and a faint smile on her lips, as if the unwonted caresses I bestowed upon her were more soothing than any cordial I could give. Without stirring she replied,

            “Of you, Max. I was longing for you, with heart and soul and \v ill. Y bu told me to win you in spite of yourself; and 1 was sending my love to find and bring you home. Did it reach you? did it lead you back and make you glad to come?”

            A peculiar chill ran through me as I listened, though her voice was quieter, her manner gentler than usual as she spoke. She seemed to have such faith in her tender fancy, such assurance of its efficacy, and such a near approach to certain knowledge of its success, that I disliked the thought of continuing the topic, and answered cheerfully,

            “My own conscience brought me home, dear; for, discovering that I had left my peace of mind behind me, I came back to find it. If your task is to cost a scene like this it w ill do more harm than good to both of us, so keep your love from such uncanny wanderings through time and space, and win me with less dangerous arts.”

            She smiled her strange smile, folded my hand in her ow n, and answered, with soft exultation in her voice, “It will not happen so again, Max; but I am glad, most glad you came, for it proves I have some power over this wayward heart of yours, where I shall knock until it opens wide and takes me in.”

            The events of that night made a deep impression on me, for from that night my life was changed. Agatha left me entirely free, never asked my presence, never upbraided me for long absences or silences when together. She seemed to find happiness in her belief that she should yet subdue me, and though I smiled at this in my indifference, there was something half pleasant, half pathetic in the thought of this proud woman leaving all warmer affections for my negligent friendship, the sight of this young wife laboring to win her husband’s heart. At first I tried to be all she asked, but soon relapsed into my former life, and finding no reproaches followed, believed I should enjoy it as never before — but I did not. As weeks passed I slowly became conscious that some new power had taken possession of me, swaying my whole nature to its will; a power alien yet sovereign. Fitfully it worked, coming upon me when least desired, enforcing its commands regardless of time, place or mood; mysterious yet irresistible in its strength, this mental tyrant led me at all hours, in all stages of anxiety, repugnance and rebellion, from all pleasures or employments, straight to Agatha. If I sat at my easel the sudden summons came, and wondering at myself I obeyed it, to find her busied in some cheerful occupation, with apparently no thought or wish for me. If I left home I often paused abruptly in my walk or drive, turned and hurried back, simply because I could not resist the impulse that controlled me.