r wife died at Cambridge." "Your daughter is very ill at
Wilmington."

"To Wilmington!" cried Judge Custis, staggering up. "Oh, my daughter! I
have killed her."

CHAPTER XXXVII.

SPIRITS OF THE PAST.

"What do they say, William, about Jack Wonnell's being found shot dead?"

"It is generally said that he was killed by the negroes for gallantries
to their color. Some talk of arresting little Roxy Custis."

"What do you say, William Tilghman?"

"I can say nothing. The night I drove Virgie to Snow Hill I drove over
poor Wonnell's body. A strange negro was seen here--an enemy of your
servant, Samson. The new cook at Teackle Hall thinks he fired the shot."

The young rector felt the searching look of those resinous forester's
eyes staring him through.

"That shot was meant for me, William Tilghman."

"Perhaps so."

"It was the shot of a hired murderer, who mistook Wonnell's unusual
hats for mine, that was not well described to him, or the description of
which his drunken and excited memory did not retain."

"Mr. Milburn, please save Vesta this suspicion."

"Oh! that pure soul could not know it," Milburn continued, with a
moment's gentleness; "but some of her proud kin, to whom I am less than
a dog, did send the assassin. I think I guess the man."

"Do not rush to a conclusion! Remember, Vesta has suffered so much for
others' errors."

"He was killed in this room, where Wonnell never came before. The wound
shows the shot to have come from a point below, where nothing but
Wonnell's hat, and not his features, could be seen. The mistake of
bell-crown for steeple-top shows that it was a stranger's job: the poor
fool died for me. Now where did the bungler who killed me by proxy come
from?"

"I will be frank with you, sir. Joe Johnson, the kidnapper, was also
here: Mary says so. To save Virgie from him, I helped her away."

"Now," said Milburn, "what enemy of mine delegated the kidnapper to
procure a murderer?"

He waited a moment without response, and answered, in a low tone of
voice, his own question:

"The man is at Johnson's Cross Roads: letters from Cambridge tell me so.
It was the deceased Mrs. Custis's brother, Allan McLane."

"Again I ask you to think of Vesta and her many sacrifices!"

"I do. I have promised her that she shall never receive a cruel word
from me. But I shall not spare my assassins. To them I shall be as one
they have killed, and whose blood smokes, for vengeance. I possess