“I little thought,” said I, hesitating long for some expression of tenderness, which the language of Mars refuses to furnish,—­“I little thought to find in a world of which selfishness seems to be the paramount principle, and the absence of real love even between man and woman the most prevalent characteristic, a wife so true to the best and deepest meaning of wedlock.  Still less could I have hoped to find such a wife in one who had scarcely spoken to me twenty-four hours before our marriage.  If my unexampled adventure had had no other reward—­if I had cared nothing for the triumph of discovering a new world with all its wonders—­Eveena, this discovery alone is reward in full for all my studies, toils, and perils.  For all I have done and risked already, for all the risks of the future, I am tenfold repaid in winning you.”

She looked up at these words with an expression in which there was more of bewilderment and incredulity than of satisfaction, evidently touched by the earnestness of my tone, but scarcely understanding my words better than if I had spoken in my own tongue.  It would not be worth while to record the next hour’s conversation; I would only note the strong and painful impression it left upon my mind.  There was in Eveena’s language and demeanour a timidity—­a sort of tentative fearful venturing as on dangerous ground, feeling her way, as it were, in almost every sentence—­which could not be wholly attributed to the shyness of a very young and very suddenly wedded bride.  There was enough and to spare of this shyness; but more of the sheer physical or nervous fear of a child suddenly left in hands whose reputed severity has thoroughly frightened her; not daring to give offence by silence, but afraid at each word to give yet more fatal offence in speaking.  Longer experience of a world in which even the first passion of love is devoid of tenderness—­in which asserted equality has long since deprived women of that claim to indulgence which can only rest on acknowledged weakness—­taught me but too well the meaning of this fearful, trembling anxiety to please, or rather not to offend.  I suppose that even a brutal master hardly likes to see a child cower in his presence as if constantly expecting a blow; and this cowering was so evident in my bride’s demeanour, that, after trying for a couple of hours to coax her into confidence and unreserved feminine fluency, I began to feel almost impatient.  It was fortunate that, just as my tone involuntarily betrayed to her quick and watchful ear some shade of annoyance, just as I caught a furtive upward glance that seemed to ask what error she had committed and how it might be repaired, a scratching on the door startled her.  She did not, however, venture to disengage herself from the hand which now held her own, but only moved half-imperceptibly aside with a slight questioning look and gesture, as if tacitly asking to be released.  As I still held her fast, she was silent, till the unnoticed