“I am greatly obliged to you, Miss Varney,” returned Arrelsford with deferential courtesy. “As a matter of justice to me, it was——”
“I didn’t come to oblige you,” answered Edith, haughtily.
She had never liked Mr. Arrelsford. His addresses had been most unpleasant and unwelcome to her, and now she not only hated him but she loathed him.
“I came here,” she continued, as Arrelsford attempted to speak, “to see that no more——” her voice broke for a moment, “murders are committed here—to satisfy your singular curiosity.”
“Murders!” exclaimed Arrelsford, flushing deeply.
The girl nodded.
“The Union soldier who escaped from prison——” she began.
“Is the man dead?” interrupted Arrelsford.
“The man is dead.”
“It is a curious thing, Miss Varney,” continued the other with cutting emphasis, “that one Yankee prisoner more or less should make so much difference to you, isn’t it? They are dying down in Libby by the hundreds.”