“No, Madame,” he replied, stiffly, “but the situation is such that I feel justified in asking the contents of the envelope you sealed and gave to the servant.”
“But that is a private letter,” she protested, as he took it from the mail bag; “it can be of no use to any government or its agents.”
“That can best be determined by reading it, Madame. It certainly cannot go out in this mail unless it is examined.”
“By you?––oh!” And Judithe put out her hand in protest.
“Captain Masterson!”
“Sir!” and Masterson turned on Monroe, who had spoken for the first time. As he did so Judithe deliberately leaned forward and snatched the letter from his hand.
“You shall not read it!” she said, decidedly, and just then Evilena and her brother came along the veranda, and with them Delaven. Judithe moved swiftly to the window before any one else could speak.
“Colonel McVeigh, I appeal to you,” and involuntarily she reached out her hand, which he took in his as he entered the room. “This––gentleman––on some political pretense, insists that I submit to such examinations as spies are subject to. I have been accused in the presence of these people, and in their presence I demand an apology for this attempt to examine my private, personal letters.”
“Captain Masterson!” and the blue steel of McVeigh’s eyes flashed in anger and rebuke. But Masterson, strong in his assurance of right, held up his hand.