Part 57 (2/2)

”May I not see this picture you speak of, since--”

But Monroe in two strides was beside the table where it lay.

”Colonel McVeigh, even a prisoner of war should be granted some consideration, and all I ask of you is to show the article in question to no one without first granting me a private interview.”

Again the eyes of the men met and the sincerity, the appeal of Monroe impressed McVeigh; something might be gained by conceding the request--something lost by refusing it, and he slipped the case into his pocket without even looking at Judithe, or noticing her question.

But Monroe looked at her, and noted the quick resentment at his speech.

”Pardon, Madame,” he said, gently; ”my only excuse is that there is a lady in the question.”

”A lady who is no longer living?” she asked, mockingly. She was puzzled over the affair of the picture, puzzled at the effect it had on McVeigh. In some way he was jealous concerning it--jealous, how absurd, when she adored him!

Monroe only looked at her, but did not reply to the sceptical query.

Gertrude Loring came to the door just then and spoke to McVeigh, who went to meet her. She wanted him to go at once to her uncle. He was trying so hard to speak; they thought he was endeavoring to say ”Ken--Ken!” It was the only tangible thing they could distinguish, and he watched the door continually as though for someone's entrance.

McVeigh a.s.sured her he would go directly, but she begged him to postpone all the other business--anything! and to come with her at once; he might be dying, he looked like it, and there certainly was _some_ one whom he wanted; therefore--

He turned with a semi-apologetic manner to the others in the room.

”I shall return presently, and will then continue the investigation,”

he said, addressing Masterson; ”pending such action Captain Monroe can remain here.”

Then he closed the door and followed Gertrude.

Judithe arose at that calm ignoring of herself and moved to the table. She guessed what it was the dying man was trying to tell Kenneth--well, she would tell him first!

Pen and paper were there and she commenced to write, interrupting herself to turn to Masterson, who was looking out at the storm.

”Is there any objection to Captain Monroe holding converse with other--guests in the house?” she asked, with a little ironical smile.

Masterson hesitated, and then said: ”I do not think a private interview could be allowed, but--”

”A private interview is not necessary,” she said, coolly. ”You can remain where you are. Margeret, also, can remain.” She wrote a line or two, and then spoke without looking up, ”Will you be so kind, Captain Monroe, as to come over to the table?”

”At your service, my lady.”

He did so, and remained standing there, with his hands clasped behind him, a curious light of expectancy in his eyes.

”You have endured everything but death for me since last night,” she said, looking up at him. She spoke so low Masterson could not hear it above the beat of the rain on the window. But he could see the slight bend of Monroe's head and the smile with which he said:

”Well--since it was for you!”

”Oh, do not jest now, and do not think I shall allow it to go on,” she said, appealingly. ”I have been waiting for help, but I shall wait no longer;” she pointed to the paper on the table, ”Colonel McVeigh will have a written statement of who did the work just as soon as I can write it, and you shall be freed.”

”Take care!” he said, warningly; ”an avowal now might only incriminate you--not free me. There are complications you can't be told--”

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