After the night on which the bracelet was lost, the sunshine which had brightened the little household at Piney Cove was dimmed by a thousand intangible shadows. In spite of all his efforts, Grantley Mellen's suspicions were aroused and kept on the alert, searching for proofs that could only bring unhappiness when found.
You would not have said that he was suffering from jealousy; there was nothing upon which his mind settled itself that gave rise to that feeling, but he fretted absolutely because he had no power to discover every thought of Elizabeth's soul during his absence. Then as he reflected upon the mystery connected with his arrival, came up afresh the disappearance of the bracelet, and he lost himself in a maze of irritating conjecture, of which his fine judgment often grew ashamed.
Elizabeth wore her old proud look for several days after the night of the dinner-party. Grantley felt that the ice of the past was freezing between them once more, and the idea caused him acute pain.
He sat watching her one day as she bent over her needlework, talking a little at intervals, listening occasionally to passages from his book; oftener sitting there with her fingers moving hurriedly, as if she were pressed for time, but her anxious face proving how far from this occupation her thoughts had wandered.
More than once Mellen saw the dark brows contract as if under actual distress, and as he ceased to speak, and seemed wholly absorbed in his book, he could see that her reverie became more absorbing and painful.
"Elizabeth!" he said suddenly.
His wife started. In her preoccupation she had forgotten that he was in the room—forgotten that she was not alone with those dark reflections which cast their shadow over her face.
"Did you speak, Grantley?"
"Yes; how you started!"
"Did I start?" she asked, trying to laugh. "I don't know how it is that I grow so nervous."