inite in Silas's mind, and yet, whenever he
brought himself to the point of putting it in words, it suddenly seemed
impossible, cruel, and absurd. But if Silas found it impossible to
speak, far more so it seemed to Joseph.

To charge another with suspecting us is half to confess ourselves worthy
of suspicion. It is demoralizing,--it is to abandon the pride of
conscious rectitude. To deny an accusation is to concede to it a
possibility, a color of reason; and Joseph shrank with unutterable
repugnance from that. He felt that he could be torn limb from limb
sooner than betray by a word that he recognized the existence of
suspicion so abominable. Besides, of what avail would be a denial
without evidence to disprove a suspicion which had arisen without
evidence? It was a thing too impalpable to contend with. As well fight a
fog as seek to destroy by mere denial suspicion so vague, unsubstantial,
and subtile, as that which enveloped him. Silas would, of course,
eagerly accept his denial; he well knew how he would spring to his side,
how warm and firm would be his hand-clasp, and how great, perhaps,
his momentary relief. But he was, after all, but human, and no man can
control his doubts. Silas would still be unable, when he thought the
matter over, to help the feeling that there was, after all, something
very strange about his conduct from first to last. It is the subtiler
nature of doubt to penetrate the heart more profoundly than confidence,
and to underlie it. No generous St. George of faith can reach the nether
den where it lurks. Or, rather, is it like the ineradicable witch-grass
which, though it be hewed off at the surface, still lives at the root,
and springs forth luxuriantly again at the first favoring season?

Moreover, Joseph hoped that some circumstance, the detection of the
murderer, or a healthier moral tone, might dissipate the cloud of
suspicion between them, and then it would be far better not to have
spoken, for, once put in words, the hateful thing would ever remain
a mutual memory, never again to be denied, and which might come up to
their minds whenever they looked each other in the eye thereafter. And
so the brothers sat opposite each other in silence, their faces growing
grayer as the clock ticked.

"The weather is growing cooler again," said Joseph, at last, rising to
go to his room.

It was at least two hours before his usual bedtime, but he could sit
there no longer.

"Yes, I think we shall ha