Obediently at a word from Hatton, the hospital attendant took his cap and stepped outside. Then McLean put forth his hand and took that of the senior lieutenant. "Hat, you and I have been good friends, haven't we?" "Always, Mac." "I've something to ask you. Something I must know. You remember the night we burned that handkerchief?" "I should say so." "Have you ever seen--have you ever known of her ever being in here--or around here since?" Hatton hesitated. "Tell me, Hat." "I can't tell you, Mac. There's been the devil to pay. Some other things stolen. Miller's got hold of it, and, old man, I'm thankful I'm going, for I'd have to tell what we know." "Great God! and Forrest two weeks' march away,--least count! See here, Hat! To-day I found something among my handkerchiefs--in a missing one that was returned. Do you know how it got there?" "Yes," slowly. "She herself gave it to me and asked me to put it there." "You don't mean it! How could she, without exciting more suspicion? She must have known it would only make you connect her with what had happened here." "Mac,--old man; it's no use! I can't keep it back from you. Why! She was reckless of anything I might think. It has gone far beyond suspicion. It is certainty. She was on the watch the night Miller came here for me. It was her dress--her steps you heard in the hall. It may be kleptomania,--God knows; but whatever it is, she threw off all disguise. She listened to Miller's orders that I should come to him at tattoo; and then, the moment he was gone, down she flew to where I stood there at the door, and implored me, Mac, as I would save her from disgrace and ruin not to go--not to tell him." "And she was not out of her mind?" "She is as sane as you or I, Mac, except on that one thing." XIII.