“There is a canker-worm at the root, you may depend upon it, wife; and it appears to me that you might detect it.”
Mrs. Rutherford looked as if she were a little disturbed at the idea of any investigation.
“If you do know, wife,” said he, “and don’t choose to reveal what you know, the responsibility rests with you, and her blood be upon your head. Tell me, now, what is your idea upon the subject, has not Caroline been unhappy ever since young Cleaveland went away?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever think that they were in love?”
“I thought he was.”
“And yet he went off without broaching the matter at all. If it is all on her part, the thing must be submitted to; and yet it seems to me he could hardly help falling in love with her.”
“No, indeed!” said Mrs. Rutherford, gathering courage to do now what she had half resolved to do before, “he did fall in love with her.”
“Then why did he not tell her so?”
“Because I forbade him.”