"You don't tell me, sir!"

"Yes, murdered; perhaps you know his murderer?"

"Who was it, sir?"

"Colonel Darke."

"Oh, I know _him_. He has been here, lately. Poor Mr. Swartz! And so they murdered him! I am sorry for him."

Mohun's glance became more penetrating.

"You say that Colonel Darke has been here lately?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was the occasion of his visit?"

"I don't know, sir; unless it was to hear me tell my visions."

"You never knew him before?"

Amanda hesitated.

"Yes, sir," she said at length.

"When, and how?"

"It was many years ago, sir;--I do not like to speak of these things.

He is a terrible man, they say."

"You can speak to me, Amanda. I will repeat nothing; nor will Colonel Surry."

The singular woman looked from Mohun to me, evidently hesitating. Then she seemed suddenly to make up her mind, and said, with her eternal smile:--

"I will tell you, then, sir. I can read faces, and I know neither you nor Colonel Surry will get me into trouble."

"I will not--on my honor."

"Nor I," I said.

"That is enough, gentlemen; and now I will tell you what you wish to know, General Mohun."

As she spoke she closed her eyes, and seemed for some moments to be reflecting. Then opening them again, she gazed, with her calm smile, at Mohun, and said:--

"It was many years ago, sir, when I first saw Colonel Darke, who then went by another name. I was living in this same house, when late one evening a light carriage stopped before the door, and a gentleman got out of it, and came in. He said he was travelling with his wife, who had been taken sick, and would I give them shelter until morning, when she would be able to go on? I was a poor woman, sir, as I am now, and hoped to be paid. I would have given the poor sick lady shelter all the same, though--and I told him he could come in, and sleep in this room, and I would go into that closet-like place behind you, sir. Well, he thanked me, and went back to the carriage, where a lady sat. He took her in his arms and brought her along to the house, when I saw that she was a very beautiful young lady, but quite pale. Well, sir, she came in and sat down in that chair you are now sitting in, and after awhile, said she was better. The gentleman had gone out and put away his horse, and when he came back I had supper ready, and every thing comfortable."

"What was the appearance of the lady?" said Mohun, over whose brow a contraction pa.s.sed.

"She was small and dark, sir; but had the finest eyes I ever saw."

"The same," said Mohun, in a low tone. "Well?"

"They stayed all night, sir. Next morning they paid me,--though it was little--and went on toward the south."

"They seemed poor?"

"Yes, sir. The lady's dress was cheap and faded--and the gentleman's threadbare."

"What names did they give?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, sir."

Mohun's brow again contracted.

"Well, go on," he said, "or rather, go back, Amanda. You say that they remained with you until the morning. Did you not hear some of their conversation--gain some knowledge of whence they came, whither they were going, and what was the object of their journey?"

The woman hesitated, glancing at Mohun. Then she smiled, and shook her head.

"You will get me into trouble, sir," she said.

"I will not, upon my honor. You have told me enough to enable me to do so, however--why not tell me all? You say you slept in that closet there--so you must have heard them converse. I am ent.i.tled to know all--tell me what they said."

And taking from his purse a piece of gold, Mohun placed it in the hand extended upon the bed. The hand closed upon it--clutched it. The eye of the woman glittered, and I saw that she had determined to speak.

"It was not much, sir," she said. "I did listen, and heard many things, but they would not interest you."

"On the contrary, they will interest me much."

"It was a sort of quarrel I overheard, sir. Mr. Mortimer was blaming his wife for something, and said she had brought him to misery. She replied in the same way, and said that it was a strange thing in _him_ to talk to _her_ so, when she had broken every law of G.o.d and man, to marry the--"

"The--?" Mohun repeated, bending forward.

"The murderer of her father, she said, sir," returned Amanda.

Mohun started, and looked with a strange expression at me.

"You understand!" he said, in a low tone, "is the thing credible?"

"Let us hear more," I said, gloomy in spite of myself.

"Go on," Mohun said, turning more calmly toward the woman; "that was the reply of the lady, then--that she had broken all the laws of G.o.d and man by marrying the murderer of her father. Did she utter the name of her father?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was it?"

"A Mr. George Conway," replied Amanda, who seemed to feel that she had gone too far to conceal any thing.

"And the reason for this marriage?" said Mohun, in a low tone; "did she explain, or say any thing which explained to you, how such a union had ever taken place?"