Her cheeks grew pale and dim her eye,
Her voice was low, her mirth was stay'd;
Upon her heart there seemed to lie
The darkness of a nameless shade;
She paced the house from room to room,
Her form became a walking gloom.
--Read.
It was yet early in the afternoon when Berenice reached Brudenell Hall.
Before going to her own apartments she looked into the drawing room, and
seeing Mrs. Brudenell, inquired: "Any news of Herman yet, mamma, dear?"
"No, love, not yet. You've had a pleasant drive, Berenice?"
"Very pleasant."
"I thought so; you have more color than when you went. You should go out
every morning, my dear."
"Yes, mamma," said the young lady, hurrying away.
Mrs. Brudenell recalled her.
"Come in here, if you please, my love; I want to have a little
conversation with you."
Berenice threw her bonnet, cloak, and muff upon the hall table and
entered the drawing room.
Mrs. Brudenell was alone; her daughters had not yet come down; she
beckoned her son's wife to take the seat on the sofa by her side.
And when Berenice had complied she said: "It is of yourself and Herman that I wish to speak to you, my dear."
"Yes, mamma."
The lady hesitated, and then suddenly said: "It is now nearly a week since my son disappeared; he left his home
abruptly, without explanation, in the dead of night, at the very hour of
your arrival! That was very strange."
"Very strange," echoed the unloved wife.
"What was the meaning of it, Berenice?"
"Indeed, mamma, I do not know."
"What, then, is the cause of his absence?"
"Indeed, indeed, I do not know."
"Berenice! he fled from your presence. There is evidently some
misunderstanding or estrangement between yourself and your husband. I
cannot ask him for an explanation. Hitherto I have forborne to ask you.
But now that a week has passed without any tidings of my son, I have a
right to demand the explanation. Give it to me."
"Mamma, I cannot; for I know no more than yourself," answered Berenice,
in a tone of distress.
"You do not know; but you must suspect. Now what do you suspect to be
the cause of his going?"
"I do not even suspect, mamma."
"What do you conjecture, then?" persisted the lady.
"I cannot conjecture; I am all lost in amazement, mamma; but I feel--I
feel--that it must be some fault in myself," faltered Berenice.