Mystery and Mourning.
There is mourning in the mansion of Casa del Corvo, and mystery among the members of Woodley Poindexter’s family.
Though now only three in number, their intercourse is less frequent than before, and marked by a degree of reserve that must spring from some deep-seated cause.
They meet only at the hour of meals—then conversing only on such topics as cannot well be shunned.
There is ample explanation of the sorrow, and much of the solemnity.
The death—no longer doubted—of an only son—an only brother—unexpected and still unexplained—should account for the melancholy mien both of father and daughter.
It might also explain the shadow seated constantly on the brow of the cousin.
But there is something beyond this. Each appears to act with an irksome restraint in the presence of the others—even during the rare occasions, on which it becomes necessary to converse on the family misfortune!
Beside the sorrow common to all three, they appear to have separate griefs that do not, and cannot, commingle.
The once proud planter stays within doors—pacing from room to room, or around, the enclosed corridor—bending beneath a weight of woe, that has broken down his pride, and threatens to break his heart. Even strong paternal affection, cruelly bereaved, can scarce account for the groans, oft accompanied by muttered curses, that are heard to issue from his lips!