So link after link of the fearful evidence wound itself around her consciousness, which struggled against it, like Laocoon in the fatal folds of the serpent.

Now cold as if the blood were turned to ice in her veins, now burning as if they ran fire, she was hurried on into the house.

They were expected home, and old Jenny had fires in all the occupied rooms, and supper ready to go on the table, that was prepared in the parlor.

But Miriam refused all refreshment, and hurried to her room.  It was warmed and lighted by old Jenny’s care, and the good creature followed her young mistress with affectionate proffers of aid.

“Wouldn’t she have a strong cup of tea?  Wouldn’t she have a hot bath?  Wouldn’t she have her bed warmed?  Wouldn’t she have a bowl of nice hot mulled wine?  Dear, dear! she was so sorry, but it would have frightened herself to death if the carriage had upset with her, and no wonder Miss Miriam was knocked up entirely.”

“No, no, no!”

Miriam would have nothing, and old Jenny reluctantly left her—­to repose?  Ah, no! with fever in her veins, to walk up and down and up and down the floor of her room with fearful unrest.  Up and down, until the candle burned low, and sunk drowned in its socket; until the fire on the hearth smouldered and went out; until the stars in the sky waned with the coming day; until the rising sun kindled all the eastern horizon; and then, attired as she was, she sank upon the outside of her bed and fell into a heavy sleep of exhaustion.

She arose unrefreshed, and after a hasty toilet descended to the breakfast-parlor, where she knew the little family awaited her.

“The journey and the fright have been too much for you, love; you look very weary; you should have rested longer this morning,” said Mr. Willcoxen, affectionately, as he arose and met her and led her to the most comfortable seat near the fire.

His fine countenance, elevated, grave and gentle in expression, his kind and loving manner, smote all the tender chords of Miriam’s heart.

Could that man be guilty of the crime she had dared to suspect him of?

Oh, no, no, no! never!  Every lineament of his face, every inflection of his voice, as well as every act of his life, and every trait of his character, forbade the dreadful imputation!

But then the evidence—­the damning evidence!  Her reeled with the doubt as she sank into the seat he offered her.

“Ring for breakfast, Paul!  Our little housekeeper will feel better when she gets a cup of coffee.”

But Miriam sprang up to anticipate him, and drew her chair to the table, and nervously began to arrange the cups and put sugar and cream into them, with the vague feeling that she must act as usual to avoid calling observation upon herself, for if questioned, how could she answer inquiries, and whom could she make a confidant in her terrible suspicions?