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Updated: June 20, 2025
There was no marked paragraph, but she soon discovered the death notice of "Abigail Winfield, nee Weatherby, aged twenty-two." She put it into the trunk out of which she knew it must have fallen, and stood there, thinking. Those faded letters, hidden under Aunt Jane's wedding gown, were tempting her with their mute secret as never before.
Tell him to come, grandpa." "I can't, sonny I can't; you git your hounds and we'll find a better man. Why, thar's Jim Weatherby; he'll do first rate." "His dogs are setters," fretted Will. "I don't want him; I want Christopher Blake he saved my life, you know." "So he did, so he did," admitted Fletcher; "and he shan't be a loser by that, suh," he added, turning to Carraway.
"Colonel Weatherby," she said slowly, "has better information than I of the charge against him and his reasons for keeping hidden, yet he steadfastly refuses to proclaim his innocence or to prove he is unjustly accused, which he might very well do if he chose.
Christopher came in at the moment, and with a slight bow to Carraway, slipped into his place. "What's Jim Weatherby chopping up that log for?" he asked, glancing in the direction of the ringing strokes. Cynthia looked at him almost grimly, and there was a contraction of the muscles about her determined mouth. "Ask Lila," she responded quietly.
It was the voice of an educated man with the regional softening of vowels. Simmy's cap'n? What then had happened to Weatherby? Boyd braced the barrel of his Colt on a bent knee, its sights centered on the front door. But Drew still watched the loft opening. "Last chance ... come out with your hands up!" The voice was very close now.
At the outbreak of the Great War he was given command of the Doraine, relieving a younger man for more drastic duty in the North Sea. He was an Englishman, and his name, Weatherby Trigger, may be quite readily located on the list of retired naval officers in the British Admiralty offices if one cares to go to the trouble to look it up.
The good lady was almost as much afraid of an editor as of an officer of the law, so under Oscar's rapid-fire questioning she disclosed more of the dreadful charge against Colonel Weatherby than she intended to. She even admitted the visit of the secret service agent, but declined to give details of it.
The light in the attic window, the marked paragraph in the paper, and the death notices why, yes, the Charles Winfield who had married Abigail Weatherby was Miss Ainslie's lover, and Carl was his son. "He went away!" Miss Ainslie's voice came again to Ruth, when she told her story, with no hint of her lover's name. He went away, and soon afterward, married Abigail Weatherby, but why?
At the door he had left his big split basket of plants, and, slipping his arm through the handle, he crossed the yard in the direction of the field. As he turned into the little path which trailed in wet grass along the "worm" fence, Jacob Weatherby came stepping briskly through the mud in the road and stopped to ask him if he had got his ground ready for the setting out.
You never hear from Colonel Weatherby, except in the most roundabout ways." "They don't know that; they think I MIGHT hear, and there's no other way to find where he is. Do you think," she added, "that the Secret Service employs female detectives?" "Perhaps so. There must be occasions when a woman can discover more than a man."
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