of a younger son. You had better have run away from your school at Dresden and be taking refuge with me. If you say something now and then about the Fen country, and abuse the Germans, it will clinch the story."
"I see," she said, smiling; and then her face filled with discomfort. "I—I ought to tell you that I know something else about you. I overheard what your friend said last night about your—your having murdered some one."
"The deuce you did!" I cried; and I filled with dismay, for I did not wish her to have a poor opinion of me.
"I couldn't help it—he talked so loud."
"He roared like a bull of Bashan! Hang him!"
"I don't mind about it," she said quickly. "If you—if you murdered anyone, I'm sure you had a good reason."
"Oh, yes, I had a good reason," I said, and I lay back in my chair, thinking quickly.
There was no doubt that Bottiger might have put us in a very awkward and dangerous position. Yet I had no fear that the child would deliberately betray us; I had the firmest faith in her loyalty; but how could one trust to the perpetual discretion of a young girl? She could not be more than sixteen or seventeen. I could not see my way at all. Then an inspiration came to me to tell her the truth.
