In fear of what her husband might do, Theodosia had effectually silenced Keith's prattle as to the lost bank-note. The boy had his own thoughts, doubtless; thoughts which caused no diminution of his love for Lettice. But before her and Dr. Bryant, he did not again allude to the subject during many weeks. To lie under suspicion could not but mean sharp suffering to Lettice's sensitive nature; and the suffering did not lessen with time. True, Keith was silent; and the servants in the house scouted as utterly false Mrs. Bryant's accusation; so in this quarter Lettice had no needless pain to bear. But among acquaintances, and even in the village, she could not but be aware that the thing was known. Askance glances and unpleasant whispers were only too patent. Everybody had heard the tale. Yet these things, disagreeable as they were, she could better endure than Theodosia's sneers. To have it perpetually thrown in her teeth, that she had done what her whole being loathed, and to be unable to deny the same, for fear of diverting suspicion upon Felix, was hard—especially hard, because the agony of shame was real for the possibility that he might be guilty. There lay the sting. Had she been sure of his innocence, she could have held up her head, and gone forward cheerily. That which made her droop and grow thin, through succeeding weeks, was not the pricking of Theodosia's gibes alone, though they did prick sharply. It was rather the dread, ever-present, that Felix might actually have done the deed of which she was accused. Only she did not know. There was no certainty. Had there been, the question must have arisen, whether she were right to hide the truth from Dr. Bryant. So long as uncertainty existed, her main care was to avert from Felix a suspicion which might be totally undeserved. Writing to Felix, she spoke of what had occurred, mentioning that the bank-note had been left loose on the desk that afternoon, and asking whether he had observed it. A reply was long in coming; and when it came it contained no allusion to what she had said. The silence might arise either from guilt, or from indifference. Felix seldom answered piece-meal her items of news; still, in this case it perhaps had a serious signification. She could not at all times feel confident that Dr. Bryant believed in her innocence. There was a slight change in his manner—too slight to be apparent to Theodosia's superficial observation: decided enough to mean sorrow to Lettice,—a slight loss of the old confiding affection. It seemed to Lettice that he watched her soberly, and waited anxiously, holding the expression of his love in leash, till matters should become more clear. The rift was a small one: and as weeks went by it narrowed rather than widened; but it brought unhappiness to Lettice, even while to Theodosia it brought disappointment. "I thought you meant to take Lettice for a day's excursion somewhere," said Theodosia.