Zoe began each day with heroic resolve to be patient and forbearing, sweet-tempered and polite, toward her tormentor, and ended it with a deep sense of humiliating failure, and of having lost something of the high esteem and admiration in which her almost idolized husband had been wont to hold her.

Feeling that, more or less of change in her manner toward him was inevitable; less sure than formerly of his entire approval and ardent affection, a certain timidity and hesitation crept into her manner of approaching him, even when they were quite alone together; she grew sad, silent, and reserved:  and he, thinking her sullen and jealous without reason, ceased to lavish endearments upon her, and, more than that, half unconsciously allowed both his looks and tones to express disapprobation and reproof.

That almost broke Zoe’s heart; but she strove to hide her wounds from him, and especially from her tormentor.

The storm kept Edward in the house:  at another time that would have been a joy to Zoe, but now it only added to her troubles, affording constant opportunity to the wily foe to carry out her evil designs.

On the evening of the second day from the setting in of the storm, Miss Deane challenged Edward to a game of chess.  He accepted at once, and with an air of quiet satisfaction brought out the board, and placed the men.

He was fond of the game; but Zoe had never fancied it, and he had played but seldom since their marriage.

Miss Deane was a more than ordinarily skilful player, and so was he; indeed, so well matched were they, that neither found it an easy matter to checkmate the other:  and that first game proved a long one,—­so long that Zoe, who had watched its progress with some interest in the beginning, eager to see Edward win, at length grew so weary as to find it difficult to keep her eyes open, or refrain from yawning.

But Edward, usually so tenderly careful of her, took no notice,—­indeed, as she said bitterly to herself, seemed to have forgotten her existence.

Still, it was with a thrill of delight that she at length perceived that he had come off victorious.

Miss Deane took her defeat with very good grace, and smilingly challenged him to another contest.

“Rather late, isn’t it?” he said with a glance at the clock, whose hands pointed to half-past eleven.  “Suppose we sign a truce until to-morrow?”

“Certainly:  that will be decidedly best,” she promptly replied, following the direction of his glance.  “I feel so fresh, and have enjoyed myself so much, that I had no idea of the hour, and am quite ashamed of having kept my youthful hostess up so late,” she added, looking sweetly at Zoe.  “Very young people need a large amount of sleep, and can’t keep up health and strength without it.”

“You are most kind,” said Zoe, a touch of sarcasm in her tones:  “it must be a very sympathetic nature that has enabled you to remember so long how young people feel.”