"That ought to have been convincing."
"Of course it ought. Nothing could be more direct or straightforward. At first it did seem to have the proper effect. She fainted away, and for days kept her room, refusing to see any one, even me."
"Well, that must have been a sacrifice," said Sharpley, ironically; "not to see her devoted husband."
"But all at once there was a change. One day I came home at the close of the afternoon, supposing, as usual, that my wife was in her room, but, to my surprise, she was below. She had ceased weeping and seemed even cheerful—though cold in her manner. On complimenting her upon her resignation, she astonished me by saying that she was convinced that Frank was still alive."
"Did she assign any reason for this belief?" asked Sharpley, thoughtfully.
"Only that she had a presentiment that he had escaped."
"Nothing more than this?"
"Nothing more."
"Pooh! She is only hoping to the last."
"It seems to be something more than that. If it was only hope, she would have fear also, and would show all the suspicion and anxiety of such a state of mind. But she is calm and cheerful, and appears to suffer no anxiety."