And taking from his purse a piece of gold, Mohun placed it in the hand extended upon the bed. The hand closed upon it—clutched it. The eye of the woman glittered, and I saw that she had determined to speak.
“It was not much, sir,” she said. “I did listen, and heard many things, but they would not interest you.”
“On the contrary, they will interest me much.”
“It was a sort of quarrel I overheard, sir. Mr. Mortimer was blaming his wife for something, and said she had brought him to misery. She replied in the same way, and said that it was a strange thing in him to talk to her so, when she had broken every law of God and man, to marry the—”
“The—?” Mohun repeated, bending forward.
“The murderer of her father, she said, sir,” returned Amanda.
Mohun started, and looked with a strange expression at me.
“You understand!” he said, in a low tone, “is the thing credible?”
“Let us hear more,” I said, gloomy in spite of myself.
“Go on,” Mohun said, turning more calmly toward the woman; “that was the reply of the lady, then—that she had broken all the laws of God and man by marrying the murderer of her father. Did she utter the name of her father?”