He tried to find some other answer to this question; but he tried in vain. That little piece of gold seemed to fasten the dark stigma of guilt upon the absent owner of the house.
"And I have shaken this man's hand!" cried George. "I am the husband of his daughter. I live beneath the shelter of his roof--in this house, which was bought perhaps with my brother's blood. Great heavens! it is too horrible."
For two long hours George Jernam sat brooding over the strange discovery which had changed the whole current of his life. Rosamond came and peeped in at the door.
"Yes," he answered, in a strange, harsh tone, "I am very busy."
That altered voice alarmed the loving wife. She crept into the room, and stood behind her husband's chair.
"George," she said, "your voice sounded so strange just now; you are not ill, are you, darling?"
"No, no; I only want to be alone. Go, Rosamond."
The wife could not fail to be just a little offended by her husband's manner. The pretty rosy lips pouted, and then tears came into the bright blue eyes.
George Jernam's head was bent upon his clasped hands, and he took no heed of his wife's sorrow. She could not leave him without one more anxious question.
"Is there anything amiss with you, George?" she asked.
The harshness of his tone, the coldness of his manner, wounded her heart. She said no more, but went quietly from the room.
Never before had her beloved George spoken unkindly to her--never before had the smallest cloud obscured the calm horizon of her married life.
After this, the dark cloud hung black and heavy over that once happy household; the sun never shone again upon the young wife's home.
She tried to penetrate the secret of this sudden change, but she could not do so. She could complain of no unkindness from her husband--he never spoke harshly to her after that first day. His manner was gentle and indulgent; but it seemed as if his love had died, leaving in its place only a pitiful tenderness, strangely blended with sadness and gloom.
He asked Rosamond several questions about her father's past life; but on that subject she could tell him very little. She had never lived with her father until after the building of River View Cottage, and she knew nothing of his existence before that time, except that he had only been in England during brief intervals, and that he had always come to see her at school when he had an opportunity of doing so.