'And Uncle Silas was'—I paused in a sort of fear.
'He was suspected by some people of having killed him'—she completed the sentence.
There was another long pause here, during which the storm outside bellowed and hooted like an angry mob roaring at the windows for a victim. An intolerable and sickening sensation overpowered me.
'But you did not suspect him, Cousin Knollys?' I said, trembling very much.
'No,' she answered very sharply. 'I told you so before. Of course I did not.'
There was another silence.
'I wish, Cousin Monica,' I said, drawing close to her, 'you had not said that about Uncle Silas being like a wizard, and sending his spirits on the wind to listen. But I'm very glad you never suspected him.' I insinuated my cold hand into hers, and looked into her face I know not with what expression. She looked down into mine with a hard, haughty stare, I thought.
'Of course I never suspected him; and never ask me that question again, Maud Ruthyn.'
Was it family pride, or what was it, that gleamed so fiercely from her eyes as she said this? I was frightened—I was wounded—I burst into tears.
'What is my darling crying for? I did not mean to be cross. Was I cross?' said this momentary phantom of a grim Lady Knollys, in an instant translated again into kind, pleasant Cousin Monica, with her arms about my neck.