Mohun started, and looked with a strange expression at me. “You understand!” he said, in a low tone, “is the thing credible?” “Let us hear more,” I said, gloomy in spite of myself. “Go on,” Mohun said, turning more calmly toward the woman; “that was the reply of the lady, then--that she had broken all the laws of God and man by marrying the murderer of her father. Did she utter the name of her father?” “Yes, sir.” “What was it?” “A Mr. George Conway,” replied Amanda, who seemed to feel that she had gone too far to conceal any thing. “And the reason for this marriage?” said Mohun, in a low tone; “did she explain, or say any thing which explained to you, how such a union had ever taken place?” “Yes, sir. They said so many things to each other, that I came to know all. The young lady was a daughter of a Mr. George Conway, and when she was a girl, had fallen in love with some worthless young man, who had persuaded her to elope with him and get married. He soon deserted her, when she fell in with this Mr. Mortimer and married him.” “Did she know that he was her father’s murderer?” “No, sir--not until after their marriage, I gathered.” “Then,” said Mohun, who had suppressed all indications of emotion, and was listening coolly; “then it seems to me that she was wrong in taking shame to herself--or claiming credit--for the marriage.” “Yes, sir,” returned Amanda, “and he told her as much.” “So they had something like a quarrel?” “Not exactly a quarrel, sir. He seemed to love her with all his heart--more than she loved him. They went on talking, and laying plans to make money in some way. I remember he said to her, ‘You are sick, and need every luxury--I would rather die than see you deprived of them--I would cheat or rob to supply you every thing--and we must think of some means, honest or dishonest, to get the money we want. I do not care for myself, but you are all that I have left in the world.’ That is what he said, sir.” And Amanda was silent. “Then they fell asleep?” asked Mohun. “Yes, sir; and on the next morning he took her in his arms again, and carried her to the carriage, and they left me.” Mohun leaned his chin upon his hand, knit his brows, and reflected. The singular narrative plunged me too into a reverie. This man, Darke, was a veritable gulf of mystery--his life full of hidden and inexplicable things. The son of General Davenant, he had murdered his father’s foe; permitted that father to be tried for the crime, and to remain under suspicion; disappeared, changed his name, encountered the daughter of his victim, married her, had those mysterious dealings with Mohun, disappeared a second time, changed his name a second time, and now had once more made his appearance near the scene of his first crime, to murder Swartz, capture his father and brother, and complete his tragic record by fighting under the enemy’s flag against his country and his family!