"Your wife died at Cambridge." "Your daughter is very ill at Wilmington."
"To Wilmington!" cried Judge Custis, staggering up. "Oh, my daughter! I have killed her."
Chapter XXXVII.
SPIRITS OF THE PAST.
"What do they say, William, about Jack Wonnell's being found shot dead?"
"It is generally said that he was killed by the negroes for gallantries to their color. Some talk of arresting little Roxy Custis."
"What do you say, William Tilghman?"
"I can say nothing. The night I drove Virgie to Snow Hill I drove over poor Wonnell's body. A strange negro was seen here—an enemy of your servant, Samson. The new cook at Teackle Hall thinks he fired the shot."
The young rector felt the searching look of those resinous forester's eyes staring him through.