“‘Yes, yes! I interrupted you. Pray, go on; it is most interesting.’
“‘Very,’ said Mistress Wynne. And now I saw what a wicked trap our spinster-fox had laid for poor Darthea. Delaney, a bit puzzled, glanced at me. I made no sign. It must not stop here.
“‘It is a queer story, Miss Peniston, and not much to the credit of his Majesty’s officers.’
“‘What next?’ said Darthea.
“‘Oh, the tale is brief and brutal. I was seated on the straw one day, with Hugh’s head in my lap, putting water on his forehead and trying to quiet him, when the turnkey came in with an English officer. This gentleman looked about him at the few left alive, asked carelessly who broke the window-panes, and then suddenly seemed to notice Hugh. He asked who was this poor devil. The turnkey said, “Name of Wynne, sir.” Then the captain stood still a moment, staring at us, and, as if curious, bent down, asking me what Hugh was saying. Now my poor friend was muttering over and over, “Dorothea! Dorothea!”—some woman’s name, I suppose, but what woman he never told me.’
“At this I saw Darthea flush, but perhaps remembering that Mr. Delaney might know her only as Miss Peniston, which was the fact, she controlled herself and said quickly: ‘He asked his name? Are you sure he asked his name? Could there have been no mistake?’
“Delaney looked the surprise he no doubt felt, and replied, ‘Yes; of that I am sure.’
“‘Do you think,’ said Darthea, ‘he knew how ill Mr. Hugh Wynne was?’
“‘Certainly; I heard the turnkey tell him that a day or two would see Hugh in the potter’s field with the rest. The doctor had said as much. This was true; he had told me it was useless for him to return, and indeed I thought so too. They buried a half-dozen a day. When told that this man Wynne had jail-fever, the captain seemed in haste to leave. At the door lie turned and took another look at Hugh, and then went out. I asked his name next day, but the turnkey laughed, and said it was none of my business. I had a fancy that the inspector desired to remain unknown. I was sure of this when, a few days after, I described the officer to Hugh, who was then quite himself. When Hugh said at last, “Had he a scar over the left eye!” and I said he had, Hugh cried out in a rage that it was his cousin, and would talk of nothing else for days. I fear there can be no doubt that the inspecting officer was Captain Arthur Wynne.’
“‘Horrible!’ exclaimed Mistress Wynne. ‘Incredible!’