"My story need not be a long one, colonel. Those who relate gay adventures and joyous experiences, indulge in endless details--memory is charming to them at such moments--they go back to the past, with a smile on the lips, recalling every little detail, every color of the bright picture.

"My own narrative will be brief, because it is a gloomy one. It is far from pleasant to return to the scenes I propose to describe. I only do so to erase a stigma which seems to attach to my family and myself; to show you that, in spite of Judge Conway, I deserve your good opinion.

a.s.suredly I do not propose any pleasure to myself in relating these events. Alas! one of the bitterest things to a proud man--and I am proud--is to even seem to defend his good name from imputed dishonor!"

Knitting his brows as he spoke, the old soldier looked gloomily into the blaze before us. In a moment, he went on:--

"I was born in the county of Dinwiddie, colonel, where my family had lived from the time of the first settlement of Virginia. My father was a large landholder, and his most intimate friend was Mr. Conway, the father of the present judge. The family friendship was inherited by the young people of the two families--and my two most intimate friends were George and William Conway. One is dead, the other is Judge William Conway, member of Congress. We had played together as children, been companions at school. When our fathers died, and we in turn became the representatives of the two families, our friendship became even more close. I was half my time at 'Five Forks'--they paid long visits to me at 'The Pines'--we hunted together, went to entertainments together, drank wine together, and were inseparable.

"George was especially my favorite. He was the soul of amiability; everybody loved him; and I entertained for him the most tender friendship. His brother William was equally estimable, but did not attract you as strongly. Although a person of the highest sense of honor, and universally respected for talents of the first order, he was irascible, bitter, and, when once aroused, allowed nothing to restrain him. At such moments his best friends avoided him, for he was dangerous. He brooked no opposition. His anger was like a consuming fire; and a friendship which he had formed with that gentleman of splendid powers, but venomous antipathies, John Randolph of Roanoke, served still more to encourage him in the indulgence of the natural acerbity of his disposition. More than once, I have seen him almost foam at the mouth as he denounced some political adversary from the stump, and when one of these fits of pa.s.sion seized him, he became as ungovernable as a wild animal. You can scarcely realize that, now.

Sorrow has chastened him; trouble has softened him; I have nothing to say against the Judge William Conway of to-day. He is a self-sacrificing patriot, a gentleman of irreproachable courtesy, and sweetness of character; but, as a young man, he was a firebrand, and I think the fire is still unquenched beneath the gray hairs of the man of seventy.

"Such were George and William Conway, when I knew them as young men--the one mild, amiable, the soul of kindness and good-nature; the other proud, honorable, but subject to fits of stormy pa.s.sion, which made all avoid him when the paroxysm was upon him.

"From this hasty description, you will understand why George was a greater favorite with me than his brother. Our friendship was, indeed, as close and tender as possible, and we pa.s.sed our majority and approached the age of twenty-five, without ever having had a moment's interruption of our intimacy.

"Then, all at once, there appeared upon the stage, that cause of so much happiness, woe, joy, grief, to mankind--a woman. To make a long story short, George Conway and myself were so unfortunate as to become attached to the same young lady, and very soon this sentiment amounted, both on his part and on my own, to a wild and consuming pa.s.sion. The young lady--it is unnecessary to mention her name--was a person of rare beauty, and mistress of all the wiles which bring young men to the feet of women. She used these unsparingly, too, for nothing delighted her so much as to attract admiration and inspire love. Perceiving the effect which her grace and loveliness had produced upon myself and George, she made every exertion to increase our infatuation--encouraged first one, then the other; and, in the end, succeeded in breaking those close ties of friendship which had bound us from the time when we had played together as children.

"That is a sad confession, colonel, but it is the truth. The bright eyes and smiles of a girl had terminated a life-long friendship. The mere love of admiration in the heart of a young girl had interrupted the affection of years--making George and myself cold and _distrait_ toward each other. Soon things became still worse. From friends we had become mere acquaintances--from acquaintances we became strangers, and finally foes. Busy-bodies whispered, tale-bearers blew the flames. If the young lady smiled on me at a party where George was present, the good people around us looked at _him_ with satirical meaning. If she smiled on George, their eyes were turned toward me, and they giggled and whispered.

"That is all tedious--is it not? An old story, which every country neighborhood knows. You laugh, perhaps, at hearing it told of A and B,--but you do not laugh when you are one of the actors. Well, not to lengthen my history unduly, an open rivalry and enmity at last arose between myself and poor George. We had been spurred on to hate each other, and narrowly escaped having an 'affair' together--appealing to the pistol as the arbiter.

"It never came to that, however. I saw, ere long, that the young lady had made up her mind. George was in every way a more attractive and lovable person than myself; and after drawing me on, encouraging me, and inducing me to offer her my hand, she turned her back on me, and married George!

"Such was the result of the campaign. George had won,--and I am obliged to say that I hated him cordially. I should never have done so, from the simple fact of his success. I am not so ign.o.ble as that, my dear colonel. Bitter as was my disappointment, I could have bowed to the fiat--pardoned the young lady--and offered my hand to dear George; but there were our 'friends,' the busy-bodies and talebearers. They were unresting in their exertions--took the whole affair under their personal supervision, and invented a hundred fables to sting and arouse me. You would have said that they were b.l.o.o.d.y minded--the busy-bodies--and bent on trouble; that their aim was to profoundly enrage me, and cause bloodshed. George had laughed at me, they said; never had had a moment's doubt of the young lady's sentiments; had often jested about me, and expressed his pity for my 'silly presumption;' had even amused himself and the young lady, by mimicking my peculiarities, and raising a laugh at my expense.

"These reports were persistently and regularly repeated for my information: I was baited, and worried, and driven nearly mad by them--finally a duel nearly resulted; but that last step was not taken.

I simply made my bow to the happy pair, left them without a word, and returned home, determined to drop the whole matter--but none the less enraged and embittered.

"From that moment George and myself rarely met, and never as friends. I had been brought to hate him--he knew the fact--and although he was innocent of all wrong to me, as I know to-day, made no effort to win my regard again. He was as proud as myself--he said nothing--and our paths here separated forever.

"Such is the necessary introduction, colonel," said General Davenant, "to the events which I propose to relate."

XIX.

THE MURDER.

"More than twenty years had pa.s.sed," continued General Davenant, "when that old hatred which had been aroused in me, toward George Conway, produced bitter fruits.

"I was to be taught by a terrible experience that hatred is a deadly sin; that G.o.d punishes it more severely than all other sins, for it is the poison which turns the whole heart to bitterness. I had indulged it--made no effort to banish it--nourished it like a snake in the recesses of my breast, and now G.o.d decreed, as a punishment, that the snake should turn and sting me.

"To go back for a moment, however. George had married--a year afterward I had imitated him. My wife was an angel upon earth--she is an angel in heaven now--and in comparison with the deep affection which I felt for her, the ephemeral fancy for the young lady whom my rival had married, appeared the veriest trifle. William Conway had also married, and he and George, with their wives, were living at Five Forks. William was judge of the circuit--George managed the estate--and their affection for each other, at this period of their mature manhood, was said to exceed that of their youth.

"'Was said to,' I say, colonel; for I never saw either of them. All intercourse between "The Pines" and "Five Forks" had ceased twenty years before; and George and William Conway were as much strangers to me, as if we lived in opposite quarters of the globe; for time had not changed--or rather restored--the _entente cordial_ of the past. On the contrary, the feud had become chronic--the gulf separating us had grown deeper. When I met either of the brothers, we exchanged no greetings--pa.s.sed without looking at each other--and the 'family feud'

between the Davenants and the Conways was not even alluded to; it had become an old story, and lost its interest.

"Such was the condition of things--such the att.i.tude which I occupied toward the two brothers--when the event, which I am about to relate, took place. The event in question was tragic and terrible. It came without warning, to shock the entire surrounding country. One night, on his return from the county seat, whither he was said to have gone upon some matter of business, George Conway was murdered, and his body concealed in some bushes by the roadside.

"The body was not discovered until the morning succeeding the murder.

His riderless horse was then seen standing at the door of the stable at Five Forks, and in great terror. Judge Conway set out rapidly to look for his brother, who was supposed to have met with some accident. Two or three neighbors, whom he chanced to meet, joined in the search; the body was discovered; and, on examination, revealed a deep gash in the region of the heart, apparently inflicted by a dagger or a knife.

"The blow had evidently been mortal--no other hurt was visible. George Conway seemed to have been waylaid by some unknown person, and murdered on his return from the court-house.

"It was impossible to divine the perpetrator of the crime, or form any idea of his motive. Upon the person of the murdered man a large sum of money, which he had received that day, was discovered. He had not been waylaid, thus, by one designing to rob him; and his peaceful and amiable character excluded the hypothesis that he had aroused such enmity as could have led to the b.l.o.o.d.y deed. The whole affair was a profound mystery--no clue could be discovered to the perpetrator, or the motive of the crime--and the body was borne to "Five Forks," where it was laid in state to await burial on the next day.

"Judge Conway, it was said, had nearly lost his reason at this sudden and terrible blow. He had loved his brother with extraordinary affection; and the event struck him like a thunderbolt. His stupor of grief was succeeded by rage. He fell into one of his paroxysms. With flushed face, bloodshot eyes, and mouth foaming with a species of fury, he mounted his horse, went at full speed to the court-house, made inquiries of everybody who had seen his brother, asked with whom he had last been seen, and left no stone unturned to ferret out the author of the crime.

"Meanwhile, the whole county was discussing, with awe-struck eyes, the extraordinary event. Who could have perpetrated the act? Who could have waylaid and murdered a man so universally popular? Who was safe, if such a state of things could exist in a peaceful community,--if a good citizen could not ride to see a neighbor, or to the county seat, without danger of being murdered?

"Grief, indignation, horror, were the universal sentiments. Some one must be discovered upon whom to lay the crime. And that some one was the individual before you, colonel!"

XX.

THE KNIFE.

"Let me continue, I beg," continued General Davenant, gloomily. "Your look of astonishment is quite natural; you feel the indignation of a gentleman at my words; but allow me to go on with my narrative.

"Poor George Conway was buried on the day after the discovery of his body, and an immense concourse accompanied him to his grave. The funeral procession was a mile long, for the notoriety attached to the event had drawn people from far and near; and when the body reached the grave-yard, the crowd nearly filled the small enclosure.

"I was present in my carriage with my wife, and my son Charles yonder, then a child in arms. You will understand, colonel, that I had not the heart to be absent. I had long ceased to feel a sentiment of any great regard for the Conways; but at the intelligence of George's sudden death, all my old friendship had revived--the old kindly feeling came back; pity banished all enmity. I thought of his former love for me, and I determined to do all that remained in my power to show my sympathy--attend his funeral among those who mourned him.

"Well, the body was borne to the grave, the service read, and the remains of the unfortunate gentleman deposited in their last resting-place. Then the clods rattled on the coffin, the service ended, and George Conway had pa.s.sed away from all eyes.

"I looked at his poor wife and brother with tears in my eyes. All my enmity was gone--my memory went back to the old scenes; at that instant I could have reached out my arms, and drawn the bereaved brother to my heart, mingling my tears with his own.

"All at once, however, I looked at Judge Conway with astonishment. I had expected to see him overwhelmed with grief--but as he now raised his head, and turned in the direction of the spot where I was standing, I saw that his features were convulsed with wrath. His cheeks were crimson, his teeth clenched, his eyes injected with blood. Suddenly these bloodshot eyes met my own--the cheeks a moment before so red, grew pale--and exclaiming, 'It is you who murdered my brother!' he threw himself upon me with the fury of a wild animal, and his fingers were nearly buried in my throat.

"The a.s.sault was so sudden and terrible that I staggered back, and nearly fell over the grave.

"Then regaining my self-possession, I caught Judge Conway by the throat in turn, hurled him from me, and stood confronting him, pale, panting, my throat bleeding--and resolved if he attacked me again to put him to death with the first weapon upon which I could lay my hand.

"He was, meanwhile, struggling in the hands of his friends, who, by main force, held him back.

"'Let me go!' he shouted, foaming at the mouth with rage--'that man murdered my brother! I will take the law into my own hands! he shall not leave this spot alive! He dares to come here in the presence of the dead body of George Conway--and he is his murderer!'

"These words were rather howled than uttered. The speaker seemed to have lost his reason, from pure excess of rage. If his friends had not restrained him by main force, he would have thrown himself upon me a second time, when one of us would have lost his life, colonel, for I was now as violently enraged as himself.

"That _I_ should be thus publicly branded with the basest crime! that the representative of the old and honorable house of the Davenants, should be thus grossly insulted, his person a.s.sailed, his good name torn from him--that he should be denounced thus in the presence of all as a felon and murderer!

"'You are insane, sir!' I at length said, struggling to regain my coolness. 'Your grief has affected your brain! I can pardon much in you today, sir, but beware how you again attempt to degrade me!'