"And I was a little doubtful, so to speak, seeing as how you had taken up, although by accident, with a fellow belonging to the camp of my enemies. But now I'll tell you a little more. Has Mr. Lepel ever told you that he had a sister?" "No." "Well, he has; and, what's more, she's married to the old General--you remember him at Beechfield?" "Yes." "Maybe you remember her too--a very fair lady, as used to walk out with the little girl--Mr. Sydney Vane's little girl?" Cynthia was silent for a moment. "Yes," she said, at length--"I think I remember her." "You've seen the child too?" "Yes"--Cynthia's eyes softened; "I am sure I remember her." "I'll tell you about her presently. I've got a notion in my head about these Lepels. Miss Lepel, as was, and Mr. Sydney Vane was in love with one another and about to run away from England when he was killed. I know that for a fact, so you needn't look so scared. They was on the point of an elopement when he died--I knew that all along; but, stupid-like, I never thought of putting two and two together and connecting it with his death. It just seemed a pity to throw shame and blame on the dead, seeing as how there was his wife and child to bear all the disgrace; and so I held my tongue." "But how did you know, father?" "By using my eyes and my ears," said Westwood briefly--"that's how I knew. They used to meet in that little plantation often enough. I've lain low in a dry ditch more than once when they were close by and heard their goings-on. They were going off next day, when Mr. Vane met with his deserts. And what I say is that somebody related to Miss Lepel found out the truth and shot him like a dog." "Why did you not think of all this at the right time? Oh, father, it is too late now!"