“No, no, no—impossible! Let it rest, dear. I have thought over it, till it nearly drives me mad!” she cried excitedly.
“It is very strange;” continued Janet musingly. “I don’t like to let it rest, and there is our trouble, too. Rich dear, has it ever occurred to you that it must have been the same night when poor Mark was found wandering about?”
“Yes, dear. I have calculated it out from what the hospital sister told me. It was the same night.”
Rich looked at her wonderingly.
“It was, dear,” continued Janet. “While you had that horror at home, I was sleeping here comfortably, and poor Mark was wandering about the cruel streets half wild.”
Rich made a gesture to her friend to be silent, and Janet passed her arm about her waist, to lead her up-stairs, but with the full determination to try and make some investigation. For though there were times when the thought of her brother having brought home a bag of diamonds seemed mythical, and the birth of his diseased imagination—especially as he never named them now—at other times visions of comparative wealth had come to her, in the midst of which she seemed to see herself with Hendon, and her old companion and her brother happily looking on.
Mark was seated gazing moodily at the fire as Richmond entered with his sister, and he rose to take her hands, and lead her to a chair.
But somehow both seemed constrained and troubled by thoughts which they kept from each other.
“I know,” said Janet to herself, “it’s that dreadful money which is keeping them apart, and if I don’t do something, Mark will be going off again to seek his fortune, and it is like condemning poor Rich and himself to a life of misery and waiting.”
She sat working, but furtively watching the others all the while.