Satisfied in her own mind that her cousin was out of danger, she would visit her no more. It would be wrong, she felt, until the clouds of suspicion that floated around were driven away. For she thought, with hot and burning cheeks, of those suspicions until she angrily drove them from her as unworthy of her notice. If her husband would but take her more fully into his confidence--talk with her freely, ask her counsel, and keep nothing back, she felt that she would be happy; but she thought that it would be an insult to him to broach such matters, and day after day she waited for the confidence that came not. He said nothing respecting his financial troubles, in spite of her eager desire to know his losses; but, to her great grief, he became day after day more sombre and thoughtful, going out but little, save to make one of his long, strange journeys, at a time, too, when her anxiety was at its greatest height. All would yet be well, though, she told herself, and still crushing down thoughts inimical to her peace, she met him ever with the same smile, but never to evoke a smile in return, save when their child came gambolling forward, when, with swelling heart, she would offer, mentally, a thanksgiving for that gift, and revel in the sunshine of his brighter looks, until once more the clouds would seem to settle over his soul. To her he was always gentle, kind, and subdued; and, to a stranger he would have seemed a model husband; but Ada Norton was not content: there was a change--a marked change--in him, and more than once, in the bitterness of her heart, she had wished that the Castle had still remained desolate. But she had one consolation during the long hours she was alone--her boy; and, lavishing her love upon him, she lived on, hopefully waiting for the sunshine; happy that, in spite of the fierce anger and suspicion of Sir Murray Gernon, the quarrel with her husband had proceeded no further, while, save for an occasional scrap of information gleaned in visits to the Rectory, the doings of the Gernons were to her a sealed book. This had pained her at first, but her good sense told her that it was best for all concerned; and, striving to forget the past, she saw the time glide by in what was to her a calm and uneventful life till, shock after shock, came tidings and blows that, like the storm beating upon some good ship, threatened to make wreck of all her hopes. Tempest, rock, quicksand, all were fighting, as it were, to make an end of her faith--to destroy her happiness; calling forth fortitude and determination to encounter sufferings more than ordinarily fall to the lot of woman to bear. Book 1, Chapter XX. SIR MURRAY'S LIBRARY.