Mrs. Abercrombie, who had entered the room a little while before, and was some distance from the place where her husband stood, felt at the moment a sudden chill and weight fall upon her heart.  A gentleman who was talking to her saw her face grow pale and a look that seemed like terror come into he eyes.

“Are you ill, Mrs. Abercrombie?” he asked, in some alarm.

“No,” she replied.  “Only a slight feeling of faintness.  It is gone now;” and she tried to recover herself.

“Shall I take you from the room?” asked the gentleman, seeing that the color did not come back to her face.

“Oh no, thank you.”

“Let me give you a glass of wine.”

But she waved her hand with a quick motion, saying, “Not wine; but a little ice water.”

She drank, but the water did not take the whiteness from her lips nor restore the color to her cheeks.  The look of dread or fear kept in her eyes, and her companion saw her glance up and down the room in a furtive way as if in anxious search for some one.

In a few moments Mrs. Abercrombie was able to rise in some small degree above the strange impression which had fallen upon her like the shadow of some passing evil; but the rarely flavored dishes, the choice fruits, confections and ices with which she was supplied scarcely passed her lips.  She only pretended to eat.  Her ease of manner and fine freedom of conversation were gone, and the gentleman who had been fascinated by her wit, intelligence and frank womanly bearing now felt an almost repellant coldness.

“You cannot feel well, Mrs. Abercrombie,” he said.  “The air is close and hot.  Let me take you back to the parlors.”

She did not reply, nor indeed seem to hear him.  Her eyes had become suddenly arrested by some object a little way off, and were fixed upon it in a frightened stare.  The gentleman turned and saw only her husband in lively conversation with a lady.  He had a glass of wine in his hand, and was just raising it to his lips.

“Jealous!” was the thought that flashed through his mind.  The position was embarrassing.  What could he say?  In the next moment intervening forms hid those of General Abercrombie and his fair companion.  Still as a statue, with eyes that seemed staring into vacancy, Mrs. Abercrombie remained for some moments, then she drew her hand within the gentleman’s arm and said in a low voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper: 

“Thank you; yes, I will go back to the parlors.”

They retired from the room without attracting notice.

“Can I do anything for you?” asked the gentleman as he seated her on a sofa in one of the bay-windows where she was partially concealed from observation.

“No, thank you,” she answered, with regaining self-control.  She then insisted on being left alone, and with a decision of manner that gave her attendant no alternative but compliance.