There was something in the man's voice that sounded unnatural. She felt chilled and rebelled. Could this be her boy, whom she loved so dearly, casting her coldly aside for another. A mother's instincts are strong, and she stared at the man with tear dimmed eyes as he took the hand of Rose and led her aside.
"I could remain away no longer," he said, in low tones. "As I told you last night, I need you to strengthen me for the ordeal that is to come. Will you do it?"
But in spite of herself just then, Rose was unable to speak. She trembled and felt cold chills passing over her body.
What did it mean?
The same influence was at work that had troubled the mother. She glanced timidly into the man's face, and then trembled visibly. How strangely old he looked, much different from the gay August of former times. Had his troubles wrought him this change?
"You do not answer, Rose," he urged complainingly, "Must I then lose your sympathy, and meet the ordeal alone?"
"No, no. I will be with you," she cried, quickly.
"As my wife?"
Again she was silent, trembling like a leaf.
"Speak."