I had heard the name before, but where? I saw that Hugh was waiting for me to place it, but any significant connection it might have I found myself unable to recall.
"It was heard of, ten or twelve years past, in connection with that of the late Duke of Borthwicke," he threw in for my assistance, and the tale of an old-time scandal came back to me at his words.
"She left her husband for him. They went to France together, did they not?" I asked.
"It was so stated at the time," Pitcairn answered.
"And she knows something of the duke's death?"
"Knew," Pitcairn corrected. "She died at noon to-day. It is her confession that I have in this paper, John. It was she herself who shot the duke, and the interwovenness of affairs is marked in this. She was an early love of Father Michel's, before he entered the priesthood, and came to him for work after her children died."
"Poor woman," said I, "she was half crazed, and, God forgive me for saying so, had many excuses for her act."
"Father Michel sent for me at ten. McMurtrie was there, and she told us the tale, after signing the paper, which I bring to you to use as you think best. You will be glad to have Carmichael see it, perhaps."
"Hugh," said I, for a shadow had lain between us ever since the trial, despite his devotion to Nancy, "I didn't think ye acted well by me at the time of the trial."
I got no further in this speech, for upon the instant he flew into a sudden heat, which made any temper, Sandy's or mine, or both of them put together, seem but a child's displeasure beside it.