officers. The birth of her baby occurred before he was placed under arrest, and, confined to her room during a slow recovery, she did not know what otherwise could not have escaped her notice, that there were no longer any orderly troopers in attendance about the house, while it seemed only natural that during her illness her husband should be very much at home.
No one felt more keen regrets for Kirke than his second in command, although no one know better how strong was the evidence against him. They had had no private communication since Kirke's visit to him, the overtures of assistance which Yorke made having now been curtly repulsed, the former professing to consider himself an injured man. Yorke did not know any more than others what was the precise nature of the evidence to be brought forward on the other charges, and he cherished a hope that perhaps he might be allowed to refuse to give evidence before the court, in which case the charge of falsehood would break down; but he had not ventured to consult any third person on the subject, fearing to criminate Kirke still more by divulging the facts. Thus the time wore on; the officers of the regiment by tacit consent avoiding when together all reference to the matter which almost exclusively occupied their thoughts, and all the news he got of the Kirkes being by inquiries through the servants of Olivia's progress, when a paragraph appeared in one of the local newspapers reflecting upon himself, and which was of course shown to him at once by a good-natured friend. It was in the form of a newsletter from the local correspondent at Mustaphabad — a species of inane contributions common to Anglo-Indian newspapers — full as usual of the absorbing topic of conversation, and ending with the following paragraph: "The last and most serious charge against the gallant colonel is that of making a false statement to his second in command, to the effect that he had handed over the jewels to the prize-agents. But it is understood that the only evidence on this charge is the verbal statement of the latter; and as the gallant major in question, who is now acting commandant of the regiment, will probably succeed to the permanent appointment if the charge be sustained, ill-natured persons might say that he has a strong interest in maintaining his point. However, as the matter is sub judice, I, of course, Mr. Editor, abstain from all comment upon it; but it is clearly what the knowing ones call a very pretty imbroglio, for apparently one of the two distinguished officers in question must have stated 'the thing that is not.' But on this delicate point I will of course express no opinion myself."
On reading this slanderous letter, Yorke perceived for the first time the bearing of the case as it affected himself. The court of inquiry, indeed, knew the manner in which his evidence had been offered, that it had been given in ignorance of the case against Kirke, and that the statement about the letter was made in perfect good faith, in view of clearing his commanding officer from the scrape he had fallen into; but the public, with their imperfect knowledge of the facts, might take a different view of his conduct, and be disposed to adopt that which the unhappy man himself in his desperation had ventured to insinuate was the real one. No doubt there would be plenty of people to put the same malicious construction on his conduct as had this scoundrel of a news-writer. If Kirke were acquitted of the charge, then would not he be virtually accused of having made a false statement? And would not Kirke himself endeavour to give that colour to the case? And to the grief which Yorke had felt throughout these proceedings, both on Kirke's account and his wife's, there was now added a feeling of shame and indignation on his own account. Is it possible, he thought, as his cheeks tingled, that I am labouring under some horrible hallucination, and that it is I, and not Kirke, who has told the he? But no — it was no dream; and what is more, I have a distinct recollection of keeping the letter by me for a time, and none of destroying it. So saying to himself, he opened his despatch-box and again turned over the contents. But again without result; pay-certificates, commissions, receipted bills, extracts from newspapers referring to the actions in which the regiment had been engaged, and last but not least, the little packet of Olivia's letters, written during the campaign. There, in its well-worn cover, was the last she had ever sent him, the last element with which he had built up the unstable, foundationless structure of his foolish hopes. He had put these letters aside on hearing of her engagement to Kirke, with the resolution of never opening them again to read anew the tale of his infatuation and self-deception; but as he looked at the packet now, he took up this last letter and drew the
