"You did? I am afraid that was wrong, Margaretta."
"I'm sure I cannot tell whether it is or not, aunt. But I've had no peace about them, night nor day, since the bank failed."
There was bitterness in the tone of Margaretta's voice, that touched the feelings of her aunt, and tended to confirm her worst fears. But she could not, now, speak out plainly, as she had felt constrained to do before marriage, and therefore did not reply.
For more than an hour did the two women wait for the return of Mr. Smith, and then they went through the form of sitting down to the dinner-table. But few mouthfuls of food passed the lips of either of them.
Hour after hour moved slowly by, but still the husband of Margaretta appeared not; and when the twilight fell, it came with a strange uncertain fear to the heart of the young wife.
"What can keep him so late, aunt?" she said, anxiously, as the lights were brought in.
"Indeed, my child, I cannot tell. I hope that nothing is wrong."
"Wrong, aunt? What can be wrong?" and Margaretta looked her aunt eagerly and inquiringly in the face.
"I am sure, my child, I do not know. Something unusual must detain him, and I only hope that something may be evil neither to him nor yourself."
Again there was a deep and painful silence—painful at least to one heart, trembling with an undefinable sensation of fear.