The woman back of the curtain was listening now with every sense alert, never for one instant had it occurred to her that Kenneth McVeigh did not know! How she listened for his next words!

"And why should a white girl like that be bought for the McVeigh plantation?"

There was a pause; then Clarkson laid down the other papers, and faced him, frankly:

"Kenneth, my boy, she was never intended for the McVeigh plantation, but was contracted for, educated, given certain accomplishments that she might be a desirable personal property of yours when you were twenty."

McVeigh was on his feet in an instant, his blue eyes flaming.

"And who arranged this affair?--not--my father?"

"No."

"Thank G.o.d for that! Go on, who was accountable?"

"Your guardian, Matthew Loring. He explains that he made the arrangement, having in mind the social entanglement of boys within our own knowledge, who have rushed into unequal marriages, or--or a.s.sociations equally deplorable with scheming women who are alert where moneyed youth is concerned. Mr. Loring, as your guardian, determined to forestall such complications in your case. From a business point of view he did not think it a bad investment, since, if you for any reason, objected to this arrangement, a girl so well educated, even accomplished, could be disposed of at a profit."

McVeigh was walking up and down the room.

"So!" he said, bitterly, "that was Matthew Loring's amiable little arrangement. That girl, then, belonged not to his estate, but to Gertrude's. He was her guardian as well as mine; he would have given me the elder sister as a wife, and the younger one as a slave. What a curse the man is! It is for such h.e.l.lish deeds that every Southerner outside of his own lands is forced to defend slavery against heavy odds. The outsiders never stop to consider that there is not one man out of a thousand among us who would use his power as this man has used it in this case; the many are condemned for the sins of the few!

Go on; what became of the girl?"

"She was, in accordance with this agreement, sent to a first-cla.s.s school, from which she disappeared--escaped, and never was found again. The money advanced from your estate for her education is, therefore, to be repaid you, with the interest to date; you, of course, must not lose the money, since Loring has failed to keep his part of the contract."

"Good G.o.d!" muttered McVeigh, continuing his restless walk; "it seems incredible, d.a.m.nable! Think of it!--a girl with the blood, the brain, the education of a white woman, and bought in my name! I will have nothing--nothing to do with such cursed traffic!"

Neither of them heard the smothered sobs of the woman kneeling there back of that curtain; all the world had been changed for her by his words.

She did not hear the finale of their conversation, only the confused murmur of their voices came to her; then, after a little, there was the closing of a door, and Colonel McVeigh was alone.

He was seated in the big chair where Matthew Loring had received the stroke which meant death. The hammock was still beside it, and she knelt there, touching his arm, timidly.

He had not heard her approach, but at her touch he turned from the papers.

"Well, my sweetheart, what is it?" he said, and with averted face she whispered:

"Only that--I love you!--no," as he bent towards her, "don't kiss me!

I never knew--I never guessed."

"Never guessed that you loved me?" he asked, regarding her with a quizzical smile. "Now, I guessed it all the time, even though you did run away from me."

"No, no, it is not that!" and she moved away, out of the reach of his caressing hands. "But I was there, by the window; I heard all that story. I had heard it long ago, and I thought you were to blame. I judged you--condemned you! Now I see how wrong I was--wrong in every way--in every way. I have wronged you--_you_! Oh, how I have wronged you!" she whispered, under her breath, as she remembered the men she looked for, had sent for--the men who were to take him away a prisoner!

"Nonsense, dear!" and he clasped her hands and smiled at her rea.s.suringly. "You are over-wrought by all the excitement here since yesterday; you are nervous and remorseful over a trifle; you could not wrong me in any way; if you did, I forgive you."

"No," she said, shaking her head and gazing at him with eyes more sad than he had ever seen them; "no, you would not forgive me if you knew; you never will forgive me when you do know. And--I must tell you--tell you everything--tell you now--"

"No, not now, Judithe," he said, as he heard Masterson's voice in the hall. "We can't be alone now. Later you shall tell me all your sins against me." He was walking with her to the door and looking down at her with all his heart in his eyes; his tenderness made her sorrows all the more terrible, and as he bent to kiss her she shrunk from him.

"No, not until I tell you all," she said again, then as his hands touched hers she suddenly pressed them to her lips, her eyes, her cheek; "and whatever you think of me then, when you do hear all, I want you to know that I love you, I love you, I _love_ you!"

Then the door closed behind her and he was standing there with a puzzled frown between his eyes when Masterson entered. Her intense agitation, the pa.s.sion in her words and her eyes!--He felt inclined to follow and end the mystery of it at once, but Masterson's voice stopped him.

"I've been trying all morning to have a talk, Colonel," he said, carefully closing the door and glancing about. "There have been some new developments in Monroe's case, in fact there have been so many that I have put in the time while waiting for you, by writing down every particle of new testimony in the affair." He took from his pocket some written pages and laid them on the table, and beside them a small oval frame. "They are for your inspection, Colonel. I have no opinion I care to express on the matter. I have only written down Miss Loring's statements, and the picture speaks for itself."

McVeigh stared at him.

"What do you mean by Miss Loring's statement?--and what is this?"

He had lifted the little frame, and looked at Masterson, who had resolutely closed his lips and shook his head. He meant that McVeigh should see for himself.

The cover flew back as he touched the spring, and a girl's face, dark, bright, looked out at him. It was delicately tinted and the work was well done. He had a curious shock as the eye met his. There was something so familiar in the poise of the head and the faint smile lurking at the corner of the mouth.

There was no mistaking the likeness; it looked as Judithe might possibly have looked at seventeen. He had never seen her with that childish, care-free light of happiness in her eyes; she had always been thoughtful beyond her years, but in this picture--

"Where did you get this?" he asked, and his face grew stern for an instant, as Masterson replied:

"In Captain Monroe's pocket."

He opened his lips to speak, but Masterson pointed to the paper.

"It is all written there, Colonel; I really prefer you should read that report first, and then question me if you care to. I have written each thing as it occurred. You will see Miss Loring has also signed her name to it, preferring you would accept that rather than be called upon for a personal account. Your mother is, of course, ignorant of all this--"

McVeigh seemed scarcely to hear his words. _Her_ voice was yet sounding in his ears; her remorseful repet.i.tion, "You will never forgive me when you do know!"--was this what she meant?

He laid down the picture and picked up the papers. Masterson seated himself at the other side of the room with his back to him, and waited.

There was the rustle of paper as McVeigh laid one page after another on the table. After a little the rustle ceased. Masterson looked around. The Colonel had finished with the report and was again studying the picture.

"Well?" said Masterson.

"I cannot think this evidence at all conclusive." There was a pause and then he added, "but the situation is such that every unusual thing relating to this matter must, of course, be investigated. I should like to see Margeret and Captain Monroe here; later I may question Madame Caron."

His voice was very quiet and steady, but he scarcely lifted his eyes from the picture; something about it puzzled him; the longer he looked at it the less striking was the likeness--the character of Judithe's face, now, was so different.

He was still holding it at arm's length on the table when Margeret noiselessly entered the room. She came back of him and halted beside the table; her eyes were also on the picture, and a smothered exclamation made him aware of her presence. He closed the frame and picked up the report Masterson had given him.

"Margeret," he said, looking at her, curiously, "have you seen Madame Caron today?"

"Yes, Colonel McVeigh;" she showed no surprise at the question, only looked straight ahead of her, with those solemn, dark eyes. He remembered the story of her madness years ago, and supposed that was accountable for the strange, colorless, pa.s.sive manner.

"Did she speak to you?"

"No, sir."

Judithe opened the door and looked in; seeing that McVeigh was apparently occupied, and not alone, she was about to retire when he begged her to remain for a few minutes. He avoided her questioning eyes, and offered her a chair, with that conventional courtesy reserved for strangers. She noted the papers in his hand, and the odd tones in which he spoke; she was, after all, debarred from confessing; she was to be accused!

"A slight mystery is abroad here, and you appear to be the victim of it, Madame," he said, without looking at her. "Margeret, last night when Miss Loring sent you into the corridor just before the shot was fired, did you see any of the ladies or servants of the house?"