The absent one came in at last, and with so much of the old, frank,
loving spirit in his voice and manner, that the troubled heart of Mrs.
Claire beat with freer pulsations. And yet something about her husband
appeared strange. There was a marked difference between his state of
mind now, and on the evening before. Even at dinner-time he was silent
and abstracted.
In fact, Edward Claire was, for the first time, acting a part toward
his wife; and, as in all such cases, there was sufficient over-action
to betray the artifice, or, at least, to awaken a doubt. Still, Edith
was greatly relieved by the change, and she chided herself for having
permitted doubt and vague questionings to find a harbour in her
thoughts.
During tea-time, Claire chatted freely, as was his custom; but he grew
serious as they sat together, after the table was cleared away, and
Edith had taken her sewing. Then, for the first time, he thought out
of himself sufficiently to remember his visit to the house of death in
the morning, and he said--
"I witnessed something this morning, dear, that has made me feel sad
ever since."
"What was that, Edward?" inquired the wife, looking instantly into his
face, with a strongly manifested interest.
"I don't think you knew Mr. Elder or his family--Ruben Elder?"
"I have heard the name, nothing more.
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