The warden, however, was absorbed in his own business to an extent that prevented him from seeing what the minister's mood might be. He began to speak the moment he had thrown himself into the arm-chair opposite Mr. Muir.
"Do you know," said he, "what sort of person we've got here in our organist?"
Indignant was the speaker's voice, and indignant were his eyes; he spoke quick, breathed hard, showed all the signs of violent emotion.
The minister's bland face had a puzzled expression, as he answered,—
"A first-rate musician, Deane,—and a lady. That's about the extent of my information."
"A Rebel! and the wife of a Rebel!" was Deane's wrathful answer.
Hitherto, what had he not said or done in the way of supporting the organist?
"A Rebel?" exclaimed the minister, thrown suddenly off his guard.
He might have heard calumny uttered against one under his tender care by the way that single word burst from him.
"The wife of a Rebel general, and a spy!"