and Isa
Gernon.

Book 2, Chapter IV.

DREAD.

Twenty winters had not come and passed away without leaving traces of
their frosty rime upon the heads of Captain Norton and his wife; but as
they stood in the Hall dining-room, hand clasping hand, and gazing into
each others face, it was evident that, whatever might have been the
past, there was peace, content, and happiness there.

"Yes," said Mrs Norton, now grown into a pleasant matronly dame, "he
has come back. The whole village rings with the news. So unexpected,
too."

"Poor fellow!" said Captain Norton, after a few minutes' quiet thought.
"Heaven grant that he may be more happy! I am sorry, though, Ada--very
sorry; for his coming seems to open old wounds. But come--come,
darling!" he exclaimed, as he drew her towards his breast. "Don't wear
that troubled face. Surely, after all these years--"

"Pray forgive me!" said Mrs Norton, nestling closer to him; and she
smiled happily in reply to his caresses. "As you say, Philip, Heaven
help him, and clear up the dark mystery of his life! I do not see why
we should trouble ourselves about his coming back."

"Well--no," said Captain Norton, uneasily; "but one cannot help
recalling how events shaped themselves after his last return. But
there, let us dismiss it all, for I cannot trust myself even now to
dwell upon all these old matters. I would make up my mind to leave, and
at once, in spite of the inconvenience, only that it would be like a
tacit acknowledgment that I was afraid to meet him; and you know how
charitable people can be."

"Oh no; we could not think of leaving," said Mrs Norton, hastily; "but
I think--nay, I feel sure that with him the past will be buried
entirely; for, Philip," she added, solemnly, "may Heaven forgive me if I
am uncharitable, but I believe that the man who could so cruelly malign
my husband must have had his own ends to serve. I could not refrain
from saying this, as the subject was brought up; but whatever evil--
whatever wrong-doing was connected with poor Marion's disappearance,
must some day or other be brought out into the light of day. Twenty
years--twenty long years--has the matter slumbered, and it may slumber
twenty more; and, in spite now of my utter indifference to public
opinion, I cannot help longing for the mystery to be cleared up in our
day. But, whether or no, promise me this, dearest, that it shall not be
allowed to trouble you--that you will not brood o