"I suppose," we suggested, "that the young woman threatened to be a formidable rival, as there was a row?" Each of the officers nodded at the other, and said that was about it. The Major then started on a little private curriculum of nods on his own account, backed by a half-closed eye of superhuman subtlety, and added once or twice that that _was_ about it. We inferred from this that the row had been volcanic in character. The Major then added, repeating the air-sawing action of his forefinger admonitorily, "But mind you, _I_ say nothin'. And my recommendation to you is to say nothin' neither." "The rest of the story's soon told," said the General, answering our look of inquiry. "Miss Graythorpe went away to Umballa to be married. It was all gossip, mind you, about herself and Penderfield. But gossip always went one way about any girl he was seen with. I have my own belief; so has Jack Roper." The Major underwent a perfect convulsion of nods, winks, and acquiescence. "Well, she went away, and was married to this young shaver, who was very little over twenty. He wasn't in the service--civil appointment, I think. How long was it, Major, before they parted? Do you recollect?" "Week--ten days--month--six weeks! Couldn't say. They didn't part at the church door; that's all I could say for certain. Tell him the rest." "They certainly parted very soon, and people told all sorts of stories. The stories got fewer and clearer when it came out that the young woman was in the family way. No one had any right _then_ to ascribe the child that was on its road to any father except the young man she had fallen out with. But they did--it was laid at Colonel Penderfield's door, before there was any sufficient warrant. However, it was all clear enough when the child was born." "When was the divorce?" "He applied for a divorce a twelvemonth after the marriage. The child was then spoken of as being four months old. My impression is he did not succeed in getting a divorce." "Not he," said the Major, overtopping the General's quiet, restrained voice with his falsetto. "I recollect _that_, bless you! The Court commiserated him, but couldn't give him any relief. So he made a bolt of it. And he's never been heard of since, as far as I know." "What did the mother do? Where did she go?" we asked. "Well, she might have been hard put to it to know what to do. But she met with old Lund--Carrington Lund, you know, not Beauchamp; he'd a civil appointment at Umritsur--comes here sometimes. You know him? She's his Rosey he talks about. He was an old friend of her father, and took her in and protected her--saw her through it. She came with him to England. I was with them on the boat, part of the way. Then she took the name of Macnaghten, I believe. The young husband's name I can't remember the least. But it wasn't Macnaghten." The Major squeaked in again: