“Yes, general, she is here,” remarked the old woman, opening the door. “She has not been disturbed.”
The room was darkened, but there was light enough to discern a very startling object.
It was the dead body of a very beautiful woman lying extended upon a couch.
Her habiliments were those in which she had died, and her profuse golden tresses were unbound, and scattered over her bosom where she had received the deadly hurt.
Giving utterance to a cry, Forster rushed forward, and seizing her hand pressed it to his lips.
“This completes my misery,” he cried. “In losing her I have lost all that was dear to me, and I care not how soon I follow.”
“She deserved her fate,” said Charles Raclyffe. “She betrayed you and us to the enemy. She was accidentally shot last night, while returning from a secret visit to General Wills. I brought her here myself. I found letters upon her which prove her guilt. I intended to conceal this catastrophe from you—but it is better you should know it.”
“You affirm the truth of what you have just stated?” demanded Forster.
“In every particular,” rejoined Charles Radclyffe. “You were completely duped by her.”
Forster dropped the hand he had hitherto held, and without a word quitted the room.