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.
"Nothing that you can cure."
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.
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