“Were you there when she first came as a bride from the Moore house?” “I was, sir.” “And saw her then for the first time?” “Yes, sir.” “How did she look and act that first day?” “I thought her the gayest bride I had ever seen, then I thought her the saddest, and then I did not know what to think. She was so merry one minute and so frightened the next, so full of talk when she came running up the steps and so struck with silence the minute she got into the parlor, that I set her down as a queer one till some one whispered in my ear that she was suffering from a dreadful shock; that ill-luck had attended her marriage and much more about what had happened from time to time at the Moore house.” “And you believed what was told you?” “Believed?” “Believed it well enough to keep a watch on your young mistress to see if she were happy or not?” “Oh, sir!” “It was but natural,” the coroner suavely observed. “Every one felt interested in this marriage. You watched her of course. Now what was the result? Did you consider her well and happy?” The girl’s voice sank and she cast a glance at her master which he did not lift his head to meet. “I did not think her happy. She laughed and sang and was always in and out of the rooms like a butterfly, but she did not wear a happy look, except now and then when she was seated with Mr. Jeffrey alone. Then I have seen her flush in a way to make the heart ache; it was such a contrast, sir, to other times when she was by herself or—” “Or what?” “Or just with her sister, sir.” The defiance with which this was said added point to what otherwise might have been an unimportant admission. Those who had already scrutinized Miss Tuttle with the curiosity of an ill-defined suspicion now scrutinized her with a more palpable one, and those who had hitherto seen nothing in this heavily-veiled woman but the bereaved sister of an irresponsible suicide allowed their looks to dwell piercingly on that concealing veil, as if they would be glad to penetrate its folds and read in those beautiful features the meaning of an allusion uttered with such a sting in the tone. “You refer to Miss Tuttle?” observed the coroner. “Mrs. Jeffrey’s sister? Yes, sir.” The menace was gone from the voice now, but no one could forget that it had been there. “Miss Tuttle lived in the house with her sister, did she not?” “Yes, sir; till that sister died and was buried; then she went away.” The coroner did not pursue this topic, preferring to return to the former one. “So you say that Mrs. Jeffrey showed uneasiness ever since her wedding day. Can you give me any instance of this; mention, I mean, any conversations overheard by you which would show us just what you mean?”