“But tell us how it happened, Kate,” Merry sobbed, entreatingly.  “We know nothing but what you have told us.  Tell us all.  It is so startling, so awful, that we can not comprehend such a thing happening where we left everybody in the most friendly spirit.”

Kate, struggling with her tears, told the story so far as she knew it, but of course she knew little beyond the mere fact that Wesley had come to his death in Mrs. Atterbury’s room; that Jack stood over him with the smoking pistol, and owned that he had fired in the darkness.  She told the tale as gently as might be, her own heart secretly pleading for everything of extenuation that might lessen Jack’s guilt, but she had insensibly taken the darker view her father had instantly adopted, that Jack’s enmity had led him to seize the chance to rid himself of a rival and enemy under cover of defending the Atterburys.  She did not hint this to the mother, but Merry, knowing Boone, at once saw what the President’s words meant.  Boone had charged Jack with deliberate murder.  Dreading the realization of this by Mrs. Sprague at this time, Merry made a sign to Kate, who, comprehending at once, arose and begged to go back to her father, who was in need of her.

“Oh, if Olympia were here! she has so much self-control! she would advise so well what should he done!” the mother moaned, as she passed down through the long, barrack-like parlor.

“But, dear Mrs. Sprague, Olympia is just where her good sense is most needed.  She is near Jack.  He needs comfort and counsel.  You can have your lawyer, and you shall see the case isn’t so bad as we have heard.  You must remember that the Boones are not likely to take an impartial view.  It is only human nature that they should think the worst of the—­the death of son and brother.  Wait till we hear Jack’s story, and you will see that it puts a different face on the matter.”

“But it’s Jack’s disgrace and death they want.  That was what the President meant.  I didn’t understand it then:  I do understand it now.  They shall not murder him!  I shall command him to remain in Richmond.  I shall command him to join Vincent.  The North is unworthy of such men as my son.  He is too pure, too innocent, too high-minded to be understood by the coarse natures that have come to power in the country.  I shall not let this odious Boone destroy him as he ruined your brother.”

“O Mrs. Sprague, think what you are saying!  Think how fatal such words would be, if Jack were brought to trial.  You see every day in the press how all are suspected of treason who were Democrats in the old days.  I know very well that you do not mean this.  Much as I love Jack, I would rather see him in his grave with the Union flag over him than in the rebel lines, a soldier of that bad cause.  As to my poor brother, Boone was only an accident in his ruin.  If it had not been Boone, it would have been some one else.  Put the whole matter in the hands of Simon Brodie.  He is almost a Sprague.  He will see that the son of his old patron has justice.”