There was really little evidence to connect Miss Faulkner with the actual outrage,--rather might not the real spy have taken advantage of her visit here, to throw suspicion upon her?
He remembered her singular manner,--the strange inconsistency with which she had forced this flower upon him.

She would hardly have done so had she been conscious of its having so serious an import.

Yet, what was the secret of her manifest agitation?
A sudden inspiration flashed across his mind; a smile came upon his lips.

She was in love! The enemy's line contained some sighing Strephon of a young subaltern with whom she was in communication, and for whom she had undertaken this quest.

The flower was their language of correspondence, no doubt.