MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
tend? We heard the approaching steps of the latter in the hall, and both glanced up quickly. The Lieutenant came in with a distinct swagger, his sword clattering against the door, as he stiffly came to attention. Donald smiled, gazing at him quietly.
"Kindly take that chair, Lieutenant," he said, "and I will detain you for only a moment."
There was a slight pause of hesitation, Dunn sitting on the edge of the chair, ill at ease, his eyes shifting from face to face. He made no objection to my presence, evidently supposing this interview had to do with my capture. Donald broke the silence with a question.
"Is it true, as I have always been led to believe, that your mother died twelve years ago?"
The man's face changed instantly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair.
"My mother! Why—why do you ask that?"
"Because Lucille said something yesterday which aroused my suspicion. I have just returned from Bartonville; the records of the asylum show she was taken away from there, uncured, by your father. Is this true?"
"Yes," the voice scarcely audible.
"Did she die later?"
"No."
"Where has she been kept concealed all these years?"
Dunn wet his lips, his hands trembled.
"In the west attic," he admitted at last. "It—it was fitted up, and she has been confined there ever since. It has been our family secret."
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