One day, it was about six weeks after their marriage, Clara said to her husband, looking slightly grave, yet smiling as she spoke.
She had a letter in her hand.
“I’m afraid I am going to bring you more trouble than profit.”
Instantly, in spite of his effort to control himself, the blood sprung to the very forehead of the young man.
“I shall cheerfully meet all the trouble, and be content with the profit,” he replied, as quickly as he could speak, forcing a smile as he did so, and endeavoring to drive back the tell-tale blood to his heart.
Clara looked at her husband earnestly, and seemed to be perplexed at the singular effect produced by her words.
“There is a valuable tract of land in Ohio,” said she, “which was left me by my father, that I am in danger of losing. The title deed, it is alleged, is defective.”
“Ah! What is the nature of the defect?” Ellison’s voice, schooled under a brief but strong effort into composure, was calm as he asked this question.
“It is claimed,” answered Clara, “that a former sale was fraudulent, and therefore illegal, and that it must now revert to certain individuals who have been deprived of their rights.”
“Did the property come into your father’s hands by inheritance or purchase?”