The Smiths had seen no reason to give publicity to their own particular family scandal.  Other people’s skeletons were interesting, but the rattling of the bones of their own annoyed them.  Then, too, it was such an old story, its interest as gossip had passed, its piquancy had evaporated.  These people knew none of the parties; it could be to them of no possible interest even as narrative.  There had been no definite determination on the part of the Smiths to say nothing of the affair; but nothing had been said.  Thorne did not correspond with his wife, nor did any member of his family, so there were no tell-tale letters to excite comment or curiosity at the village post-office.  How was Pocahontas to know?

With Thorne’s good pleasure, her ignorance would remain until he himself should lift it.

Norma gave the required promise willingly.  She, too, objected to this affair obtaining publicity.  While Thorne sought her father to explain a sudden call to New York “on business,” she communicated the contents of Mrs. Vincent’s letter to her mother, and informed her of Thorne’s determination.  Then leaving the good lady to get the better of her consternation by herself, and to make impossible suggestions, to the empty air, she repaired to her cousin’s room, and assisted him in his hurried preparations.

CHAPTER XII.

Norma was exultant.  The thing she had longed, thirsted and well-nigh prayed for, was coming to pass.  Thorne would be a free man once more, free to come back to her, free to bring again the old sweetness to her life, free to renew the spring of years ago.  Sitting by the library fire in the gloaming after her cousin’s departure, Norma dreamed dreams and was happy—­her eyes softened, and her lips smiled.  Then her face darkened slowly, and the hands in her lap clinched themselves.  In her fierce joy in the possibility of her reward coming to her at last, was mingled a dread that the cup might be dashed from her lips a second time.

During the first couple of months after the removal to Virginia, Norma had relaxed her constant, imperceptible watch over Thorne.  He had accompanied them to the new home unsolicited; and having come, he had remained.  Small wonder that Norma had been deceived; for vanity aside, she could not help but know that no woman in that region—­not even Pocahontas Mason—­was her peer in beauty, wit, or accomplishments.  What had she to fear, with habit and contrast both in her favor?  Norma neglected to provide against one subtle and most powerful element—­novelty.

For the past few weeks, first one thing, then another; trifles light as air, but forging a chain heavy enough to link suspicion with certainty, had filled the girl with the old fever of unrest.  Was she never to be at rest?  Would the glory of the past never shine upon the present?