I was more than ever mystified at these words. I had not expected her to take so philosophically to the idea of hanging Doddridge Knapp, and I thought it best to hold my tongue. “I have marveled at you,” said Mrs. Knapp after a pause. “I marvel at you yet. You have carried off your part well.” “Not well enough, it seems, to deceive you,” I said, a little bitterly. “You should not have expected to deceive me,” said Mrs. Knapp. “But you can imagine the shock I had when I saw that it was not Henry Wilton who had come among us that first night when I called you from Mr. Knapp's room.” “You certainly succeeded in concealing any surprise you may have felt,” I said. “You are a better actor than I.” Mrs. Knapp smiled. “It was more than surprise--it was consternation,” she said. “I had been anxious at receiving no word from Henry. I suppose you got my notes. And when I saw you I was torn with doubts, wondering whether anything had happened to Henry, whether he had sent you in his stead as a practical joke, whether you knew much or little or nothing of our affairs--in short, I was overwhelmed.” “I didn't suppose I was quite so poor an impostor,” I said apologetically, with a qualm at the word. “Though I did get some hint of it,” I added, with a painful recollection of the candid statement of opinion I had received from the daughter of the house. “Oh, you did very well,” said Mrs. Knapp kindly, “but no one could have been successful in that house. Luella was quite outraged over it, but I managed to quiet her.” “I hope Miss Knapp has not retained the unfavorable impressions of--er--” I stammered in much confusion. Mrs. Knapp gave me a keen glance. “You know she has not,” she said. I felt the subconscious impression somehow that after all Mrs. Knapp would have been better pleased if Luella had kept nearer to her first impressions of me. “Well,” continued Mrs. Knapp, “when I saw you and guessed that something had happened to Henry Wilton, and found that you knew little of what was going on, I changed the plan of campaign. I did not know that you were one to be trusted, but I saw that you could be used to keep the others on a false scent, for you deceived everybody but us.” “There was one other,” I said. “Mother Borton?” inquired Mrs. Knapp. “Yes, I learned that she knew you. But to every one else in the city you were Henry Wilton. I feared, though, you would make some mistake that would betray you and spoil my plans. But you have succeeded marvelously.” Mrs. Knapp paused a moment and then continued slowly. “It was cruel of me. I knew that it was sending you to face death. But I was alarmed, angry at the imposition, and felt that you had brought it on yourself. Can you forgive me?” “I have nothing to forgive,” I said. “I would have spoken when I found you for what you are,” said Mrs. Knapp, “but I thought until the Livermore trip that you could serve me best as you were doing.” “It was blind work,” I said.