Was she about to stumble on the mystery that had sundered Arthur’s and Cinthia’s lives?
She glanced nervously at Cinthia, but beyond a deep pallor saw no sign of shock such as she had secretly experienced. Feeling thankful that it was so, she exclaimed:
“Uncle Rube’s story has given me the horrors! How sad to think of such a happy family so broken up by the cruel, desolating war! But there were many such. One could almost fancy the ghost of the past haunting that desolate ruin!”
They looked back with troubled eyes at the wrecked home that had sheltered Arthur Varian’s forefathers and his own saddened youth. How strange that he should thus be recalled to memory again when Cinthia was just getting over their last ill-fated meeting.
She read Madame Ray’s perturbed thoughts and feigned indifference, saying:
“It certainly gives one a sort of ghostly chill to gaze on the ruins of such a home. Do you remember Byron’s lines on his old home?” repeating softly:
“‘Through thy battlements, Newstead, the hollow winds whistle,
Thou, the halls of my fathers have gone to decay,
In thy once smiling garden the hemlock and thistle
Have choked up the rose which late bloomed in the way.’”