"You had no alternative, and I will not blame you; but—" and his mouth closed grimly.
"'It is unfortunate, nevertheless,' you would say. Is the loss irreparable?"
"How can I tell now? But you must appreciate the importance of those papers in the light of what occurred after Slade's call.... By the way, what time did he depart?"
"About half-past nine or ten o'clock.... And to think, had I disobeyed mamma, I might have averted—" She shuddered and did not finish.
The Captain made no response. The subject afforded too wide a field for speculation to indulge idly in probabilities. The papers being irretrievably gone, the salient facts upon which his mind fastened were, that Slade had some knowledge that the General's life was threatened, and for some reason—another mystery in a veritable network of mysteries—he had imparted the intelligence to Mrs. Fairchild. But why?—why, of all persons, to her? Mr. Slade had at last assumed a position that was susceptible of scrutiny.
After a number of questions, to which Charlotte could return no satisfactory replies, Converse said:
"If it is possible, I must see your mother as soon as she is able to bear the strain of an unpleasant interview. Try to prepare her against my next coming, Miss Fairchild."
Charlotte promised to do her best.
The talk was broken in upon by an abrupt change in her countenance. All at once she became beautiful; a warm tide of color mounted to her cheeks; her head became regally erect; and she shot a look down the pergola of locusts and elms that lined the roadway, such as an eagle might flash from one mountain-peak to her mate upon another. Instinctively Mr. Converse turned and descried in the distance an approaching horse and buggy. So the Doctor was obeying her first summons, after all. The Captain handed the note back to Charlotte, and at once took his departure.