why he never stirred
from the house, but slept half the day on the sofa. But ere she had
been a week at home, she found out. Thus:--

They would sit, those two, silent and thoughtful, beside that unhappy
hearth, watching the fire, and brooding over the past. Each had that in
their hearts which made them silent to one another, and each felt the
horror of some great overshadowing formless calamity, which any instant
might take form, and overwhelm them. Mary would sit late, dreading the
weary night, when her overstrained senses caught every sound in the
distant forest; but, however late she sat, she always left Tom behind,
over the fire, not taking his comfortable glass, but gloomily
musing--as much changed from his old self as man could be.

She now lay always in her clothes, ready for any emergency; and one
night, about a week after Lee's murder, she dreamt that her husband was
in the hall, bidding her in a whisper which thrilled her heart, to come
forth. The fancy was so strong upon her, that saying aloud to herself,
"The end is come!" she arose in a state little short of delirium, and
went into the hall. There was no one there, but she went to the front
door, and, looking out into the profoundly black gloom of the night,
said in a low voice,--

"George, George, come to me! Let me speak to you, George. It will be
better for both of us to speak."

No answer: but she heard a slight noise in the sitting-room behind her,
and, opening the door gently, saw a light there, and Tom sitting with
parted lips watching the door, holding in his hand a cocked pistol.

She was not in the least astonished or alarmed. She was too much TETE
MONTEE to be surprised at anything. She said only, with a laugh,--

"What! are you watching, too, old mastiff?--Would you grip the wolf,
old dog, if he came?"

"Was he there, Mary? Did you speak to him?"

"No! no!" she said. "A dream, a wandering dream. What would you do if
he came,--eh, cousin?"

"Nothing! nothing!" said Tom. "Go to bed."

"Bed, eh?" she answered. "Cousin; shooting is an easier death than
hanging,--eh?"

Tom felt a creeping at the roots of his hair, as he answered,--"Yes, I
believe so."

"Can you shoot straight, old man? Could you shoot straight and true if
he stood there before you? Ah, you think you could now, but your hand
would shake when you saw him."

"Go to bed, Mary," said Tom. "Don't talk like that. Let the future lie,
cousin."

She turned and went to her