"Ah," cried Sir William. It was all he said.
"Did you care much, for my father, Sir William?"
"More than I ever cared for any other man. I have never cared for one since as I cared for him. We were young fellows then, he and I; not much older than you are now; but ours was a true friendship."
"Then I conjure you, by that friendship, to disclose to me the whole history of the past: the circumstances attending my father's death, and its cause. Speak of things as though my mother existed not. I wish to Heaven she never had been my mother!"
"I think you must know something of the circumstances," spoke Sir William. "Or why should you say this?"
"It is because I know part that I must know the whole. My mother has--has lied to me," he concluded, bringing out the word with a painful effort. "She has thrust a false story upon me, and--I cannot rest until I know the truth."
"Arthur Bohun, although you conjure me by your late father: and for his sake I would do a great deal: I fear that I ought not to do this."
"General Strachan bade me come to you. I begged him to tell me all, but he said no. Does he know all?" broke off Arthur.
"Every tittle. I think he and I and your mother are nearly the only three left who do know it. There were only some half-dozen of us altogether."
"And do you not think that I, Major Bohun's only son, should at least be made acquainted with as much as others know? Tell me all, Sir William: for my lost father's sake."