He spoke almost in a whisper, but Moll overheard him, and answered
fiercely:

"One that is dying, Philip; and you know well enough who murdered her.
'Twasn't me you struck the hardest blow that night. Do you see that
scar? That's nothing; but you struck her to the heart."

"What does she mean?" asked Harold, looking sternly into Philip's
disturbed eye.

"Heaven knows. She's mad," he answered. "Did she tell you nothing--no
absurd story?"

"Nothing. She was sullen and uncommunicative, and half the time took no
notice of our questions."

"No wonder, poor thing!" said Philip. "She's mad. However, I have some
little power with her, and if you will leave us alone awhile, I will
prevail upon her to go quietly back to Washington."

Harold went up to the woman, who was leaning with folded arms against
the wall, and spoke kindly to her.

"Should you want assistance, I will help you. We shall be going in half
an hour. You must be ready to go with us, you know, for you can't stay
here, where there may be fighting presently."

"Thank you," she replied. "Don't mind me. I can take care of myself.
You can leave us alone together. I'm not afraid of him."