"The reason being," he added, "that something very like this interview was foreseen—not because you couldn't be trusted—no, no: it was to spare you from ever being obliged to refuse divulging your knowledge. Knowing of his whereabouts, you could never have met an examination, such as you might have been subjected to, with a plea of ignorance."
"I can only act as you have suggested," she returned; "and I will make my arrangements accordingly as soon as I possibly can. While Clay is absent it is very inconvenient communicating with the city."
"I shall be glad to convey any message you wish to send."
"Thank you. It is Doctor Westbrook that I wish to see. I sent him word this morning regarding mamma's illness; but I expect now that he will not come—soon."
"Well, Miss Fairchild," the Captain arose briskly, "I have accomplished my errand, and if nothing else ever comes of it, I shall always retain a delightful remembrance of these flowers. I shall call here again Thursday morning early—that is, if I have to come to you for results. That will be day after to-morrow, and I shall make no open move until after I have seen you. Now write your note, and I will see that the Doctor gets it. I shall wait in the garden."
When, after a few minutes, she reappeared and handed him the envelope, he said, as if the matter had just occurred to him:
"By the way, Miss Fairchild, when I first mentioned last night's affair a while back, you spoke of William Slade: why?"
Immediately she became grave and thoughtful.
"Because," after an appreciable pause, "he called here last night to see my mother, and his visit had to do with General Westbrook." She stopped in sudden alarm at an abrupt change in the Captain's manner. "What is it?" she asked.
The response was a string of ejaculations.