manner, in this little interview, which struck Mrs. Marston, and alarmed
her curiosity. He had seemed like one charged with some horrible
secret--intolerable, and which he yet dared not reveal.

"What," proceeded Mrs. Marston, "is the nature of the change of which
you speak?"

"Why, ma'am, he is like one frightened, and in sorrow," she replied; "he
will sit silent, and now and then shaking his head, as if he wanted to
get rid of something that is teasing him, for an hour together."

"Poor man!" said she.

"And, then, when we are at meals, he will, all on a sudden, get up, and
leave the table; and Jem Boulter, that sleeps in the next room to him,
says, that, almost as often as he looks through the little window between
the two rooms, no matter what hour in the night, he sees Mr. Merton on
his knees by the bedside, praying or crying, he don't know which; but,
any way, he is not happy--poor man!--and that is plain enough."

"It is very strange," said the lady, after a pause; "but, I think, and
hope, after all, it will prove to have been no more than a little
nervousness."

"Well, ma'am, I do hope it is not his conscience that is coming against
him, now," said the maid.

"We have no reason to suspect anything of the kind," said Mrs.
Marston, gravely, "quite the reverse; he has been always a
particularly proper man."