"Why do you sigh Amy?" asked her husband.
Alas! the question came too late; her resolve had been made and taken. She sat silent, though she would have given worlds to have been able to throw her arms round his neck and tell him all.
Robert drew her fondly and tenderly towards him. "As my wife, Amy," he said, "none shall ever dare whisper a word or even breathe a thought that can reflect upon your former life at Brampton. Have no fear, little one, but trust in me."
He had misinterpreted her silence, and thought the repugnance she felt at going back to Brampton was caused by pride. Well, perhaps it was best so.
"We will go, Robert," she whispered tremblingly, while the words she ought to have spoken remained unsaid, and with her husband and little Bertie she went to Brampton, simply because she saw no help for it.
It was one of those things that must be, and she nerved her heart to brave it.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST DOUBT.
"And the strange inborn sense of coming ill That ofttimes whispers to the haunted breast, In a low tone which naught can drown or still; Midst feasts and melodies a secret guest: Whence doth that murmur wake, that shadow fall? Why shakes the spirit thus?" Mrs. Hemans.