"But I must be told!" she interrupted. "What is there concerning me which you both conspire to hide? He shall free you, no matter what the result is to me; did you fancy I should let you go away under suspicion? But, that picture! You must make that clear to me. Listen, I will confess to you, too! I have wronged him--Colonel McVeigh--it has been all a mistake. I can never atone, but"--and her voice sank lower, "it was something about that picture made him angry just now, the thought I had given you some picture. I--I can't have him think that--not that you are my lover."

"Suppose it were so--would that add to the wrongs you speak of?" His voice was almost tender in its gentleness, and his face had a strange expression, as she said: "Yes, it would, Captain Jack."

"You mean, then--to marry him?"

Something in the tenseness of his tones, the strange look of anxiety in his eyes, decided her answer.

"I mean that I have married him."

She spoke so softly it was almost a whisper, but if it had been trumpet-like he could not have looked more astonished. His face grew white, and he took a step backward from her. Masterson, who noticed the movement, walked down to the desk, where he could hear. Margeret was nearer to them than he. All he heard was Madame Caron asking if Captain Monroe would not now agree that she should see the picture since it was necessary to defend herself.

But Monroe had gone back to his chair, where he sat looking at her thoughtfully, and looking at Margeret, also, who had remained near the door, and gave no sign of having heard their words--had she?

"No, Madame Caron," he said, quietly, "if there is any evidence in my favor you can communicate to Colonel McVeigh, I shall be your debtor, but the picture is altogether a personal affair of my own. I will, if I can, prevent it from being used in this case at all, out of consideration for the lady whom I mentioned before."

CHAPTER x.x.x.

Kenneth McVeigh walked the floor of his own room, with the bitterest thoughts of his life for company. Loyal gentleman that he was, he was appalled at the turn affairs had taken. It had cost him a struggle to give up faith in the man he had known and liked--but all that was as nothing compared to the struggle in which his own love fought against him.

In that room where death apparently stood on the threshold, and the dying man had followed him about the room with most terrible, appealing eyes, he had heard but few of the words spoken--all his heart and brain were afire with the scene he had just left; that, and the others preceding it! Every word or glance he had noticed between Monroe and the woman he loved returned to him! Trifles light as air before, now overwhelmed him with horrible suggestions; and her pleading for him that morning--all the little artifices, the pretended lightness with which she asked a first favor on her wedding morning--their wedding morning! for whatever she was or was not, she was, at least, his wife!

That fact must be taken into consideration, he could not set it aside; her disgrace meant his disgrace--G.o.d! was that why she had consented to the hurried marriage?--to shield herself under his name, and to influence his favor for her lover?

The spirit of murder leaped in his heart as he thought of it! He heard Gertrude send to the library for Margeret, and he sent word to Masterson he was detained and would continue the investigation later.

When Pluto returned, after delivering the message, he inquired if Madame Caron was yet in the library, and Pluto informed him Madame Caron had gone to her room some time ago; no one was in the library now, the gentleman had gone back to the cottage.

He meant to see her alone before speaking again with Monroe, to know the worst, whatever it was, and then--

He used a magnifying gla.s.s to study the little picture; he took it from the frame and examined the frame itself. The statement of Monroe as to its age seemed verified. Certain things in the face were strange, but certain other things were wonderfully like Judithe as a happy, care-free girl--had she ever been such a girl?

The chance that, after all, the picture was not hers gave him a sudden hope that the other things, purely circ.u.mstantial, might also diminish on closer examination; the picture had, to him, been the strongest evidence against her; a jealous fury had taken possession of him at the sight of it; he was conscious that his personal feelings unfitted him for the judicial position forced upon him, and that he must somehow conquer them before continuing any examination.

An hour had pa.s.sed; he had decided the picture was not that of his wife, but if Monroe were not her lover, why did he treasure so a likeness resembling her? And if she were not in love with him, why ignore their former acquaintance, and why intercede for him so persistently?

All those thoughts walked beside him as he strode up and down the room, and beyond them all was the glory of her eyes and the remembrance of her words: _"Whatever you think of me when you know all, I want you to know that I love you--I love you!"_

They were the words he had waited for through long days and nights; they had come to him at last, and after all--

A knock sounded on the door and Pluto entered with a large sealed envelope on which his name was written.

"From Madame Caron, sah; she done tole me to put it in yo' own han',"

he said.

When alone again he opened the envelope. Several papers were in it.

The first he unfolded was addressed to his wife and the signature was that of a statesman high in the confidence of the Northern people. It was a letter of grat.i.tude to her for confidential work accomplished within the Confederate lines; it was most extreme in commendation, and left no doubt as to the consideration shown her by the most distinguished of the Federal leaders. It was dated six months before, showing that her friendship for his enemies was not a matter of days, but months.

There was one newly written page in her own writing. He put that aside to look at last of all, then locked the door and resumed the reading of the others.

And the woman to whom they were written moved restlessly from room to room, watching the storm and replying now and then to the disconsolate remarks of Evilena, who was doleful over the fact that everybody was too much occupied for conversation. Kenneth had shut himself up entirely, and all the others seemed to be in attendance on Mr. Loring.

Captain Masterson was in and out, busy about his own affairs, and not minding the rain a particle, and she was full of questions concerning Captain Monroe, and why he had paid the brief visit to the library.

Judithe replied at random, scarcely hearing her chatter, and listening, listening each instant for his step or voice on the stair.

While she stood there, looking out at the low, dark clouds, a step sounded in the hall and she turned quickly; it was only Pluto; ordinarily she would not have noticed him especially, but his eyes were directed to her in so peculiar a manner that she gave him a second glance, and perceived that he carried a book she had left on a table in her own room.

"Look like I can't noway find right shelf fo' this book," he said, with some hesitation. "I boun' to ax yo' to show me whah it b'longs."

She was about to do so, but when the door of the bookcase opened, he handed her the book instead of placing it where she directed.

"Maybe yo' put it in thah fo' me," he suggested.

She looked at him, remembering she had told Pierson he could be trusted, and took the book without a word. Evilena was absorbed in Juliet's woes, and did not look up.

Pluto muttered a "thank yo'," and disappeared along the hall.

She took the book into the alcove before opening it, and found there what she had expected--a slip of paper with some pencilled marks. It was a cipher, from which she read, _"All is right; we follow close on this by another road. Be ready. Lincoln"_--she sank on her knees as she read the rest--_"Lincoln has issued the proclamation of emanc.i.p.ation!"_

It was Margeret who found her there a few minutes later. She was still kneeling by the window, her face covered by her hands.

"You likely to catch cold down there, Madame," said the soft voice. "I saw you come in here a good while ago, an' I thought I'd come see if I could serve you some way."

Judithe accepted the proffered hand and rose to her feet. For an instant Margeret's arms had half enfolded her, and the soft color swept into the woman's face. Judithe looked at her kindly and said:

"You have already tried to serve me today, Margeret; I've been thinking of it since, and I wonder why?"

"Any of the folks here would be proud to serve you, Madame Caron,"

said the woman, lapsing again into calm reticence.

Judithe looked at her and wondered what would become of her and the many like her, now that freedom was declared for the slaves. She could not understand why she had denied seeing her in the corridor, for they had met there, almost touched! Perhaps she was some special friend of Pluto's, and because of that purchase of the child--

"I leave tomorrow for Savannah," said Judithe, kindly. "Come to my room this evening, and if there is anything I can do for you--"

Margeret's hands were clasped tightly at the question, and those strange, haunting eyes of hers seemed to reach the girl's soul.

"There is one thing," she half whispered, "not now, maybe, not right away! But you've bought Loringwood, and I--I lived there too many years to be satisfied to live away from it. They--Miss Gertrude--wouldn't ask much for me now, and--"

"I see," and Judithe wished she could tell her that there would never be buying or selling of her again--that the law of the land had declared her free! "I promise you, Loringwood shall be your home some day, if you wish."

"G.o.d forever bless you!" whispered Margeret, and then she pushed aside the curtains and went through the library and up the stairs, and Judithe watched her, thoughtfully wondering why any slave should cling to a home where Matthew Loring's will had been law. Was it true that certain slavish natures in women--whether of Caucasian or African blood--loved best the men who were tyrants? Was it a relic of inherited tendencies when all women of whatever complexion were but slaves to their masters--called husbands?

But something in the delicate, sad face of Margeret gave silent negative to the question. Whatever the affection centered in Loringwood, she could not believe it in any way low or unworthy.

As she pa.s.sed along the upper hall Pluto was on the landing.