ve a frost," replied Silas, and the brothers
parted.

After Joseph had gone, Mrs. Kilgore came into the parlor and sat down
with some sewing. She waited for her husband to speak and tell her if
Joseph had said anything. But he sat there staring at the wall, and took
no notice of her. Although she knew so well what had been preying upon
his mind since last evening, yet he had not once referred to the matter,
and she had not dared to do so. It was hard for a talkative little lady
like her to understand this reticence about a matter so deeply felt. She
could not comprehend that there may be griefs so ghastly that we dare
not lift from them the veil of silence. She wanted to "talk it over" a
little. She felt that would do Silas good, because she knew it would be
a relief to her. Nor was she insensible to the gratification it would
afford her vanity to discuss so serious a matter with her husband,
whose general tone with her was one of jest and pleasantry, to the
disparagement of her intellectual powers, as she thought. So, after
glancing up several times timidly at Silas's still set profile, she
said, in a weighty little voice:--

"Don't you think Joseph behaves very strangely about the murder?" Her
words seemed to be several seconds in making an impression on Silas's
mind, and then he slowly turned his face full upon her. It was a
terrible look. The squared jaw, the drawn lips, the dull, distant stare,
repulsed her as one might repulse a stranger intermeddling with a bitter
private grief. Who was she, to come between him and his brother? He did
not seem to think it worth while to say anything to explain so eloquent
a glance, but immediately faced about again, as if dismissing the
interruption from his mind. Mrs. Kilgore did not try to make any more
conversation, but went to her bedroom and cried herself to sleep.

But Silas sat in his chair in the parlor, and took no note of the hours
till the lamp spluttered and went out. All through the evening, in
Joseph's room, which was directly above, he had heard him walking to and
fro, to and fro, sitting down awhile, and then starting again; and if
the pacing had not finally come to an end, Silas could not have gone to
bed, for his heart went out to his brother wrestling there alone with
his dreadful secret, and he could not rest till he thought that he, too,
was at rest.

Indeed, for the very reason that Joseph was so dear to him, and he felt
nothing could change that, he act