"No. Mother will not let me read the things about crime. But," she said quickly, "she has told me all about it since you came."
"They made me out to be a vicious degenerate and an ingrate," he said.
"Oh, it was horrible,--the things they said about me. Just as if they knew I was guilty. But, Christine, I am going to make them take it all back. I"m going to make them apologize some day, see if I don"t." The fierce agony in his voice moved her greatly.
"Oh, if I could help you!" she cried tremulously.
He apparently did not hear the eager words.
"It all looked so black against me," he went on, looking straight ahead unseeingly. "Perhaps I shouldn"t blame them. I have thought it all out, lots of times, Christine, and I"ve tried to put myself in their place.
Sometimes I think that if I were not myself I should certainly believe myself guilty. It _did_ point to me, every bit of it, Christine. And I am as innocent as a little baby. If--if they catch me they"ll hang me!"
"No, no!" she shuddered.
"Doesn"t it look to you as if I really had done it?" he demanded. "Tell the truth, Christine. From what you have heard, wouldn"t you say it _looked_ as if I were guilty?"
She hesitated, frightened, distressed. "The papers did not tell the truth, David," she said loyally.
"They hunted for me with bloodhounds," he went on vaguely. "If they had caught me then, I would have been strung up and shot to pieces. You see," turning to her with a gentle note in his voice, "my grandfather was very much beloved. He was the very finest man in all the state. I have sworn to avenge his death. I swear it every night--every night, Christine. First, I"m going to clear myself of the--the hideous thing.
And then!" There was a world of promise in those two words.
"You have said that there is a man who can clear you," she ventured.
"Who is he, David? Where is he to be found? Why doesn"t he step forward and clear you?"
"I--I don"t know where he is. In New York, I think. He--he was sent out of the country by--by some one. Do you want to hear my side, Christine?"
"Do you--care to speak of it, David?"
"Yes. You will understand. You are good. I want you to tell your mother, too." He slackened his pace. Both forgot that the hour for the "tournament" was drawing perilously near. "I lived with my grandfather, Colonel Jenison. My father was killed at Shiloh. My mother died when I was nine years old. I had one uncle, my father"s younger brother. He was an officer in the Southern army, just as my father was. He gave my grandfather trouble all of his life. They say it was his wild habits that drove my grandmother to her grave. I knew him but slightly. When the war was two years old, he was court-martialed for treason to the cause. The story was that he had been caught trying to sell some plans to the enemy. He was sentenced to be shot. It was very clear against him, my mother told me on one of the rare occasions when his name was mentioned. But he escaped during a sudden, overwhelming attack by the Yanks. They never caught him. My grandfather, who had been a colonel in the war with Mexico and had lost an arm, disowned him as a son. He disinherited him, leaving everything to my father. When my father was killed I became the heir to Jenison Hall and all that went with it,--a vast estate.
"A year ago my uncle Frank turned up. He came to Richmond with proof that cleared him of the charge of treason in the minds of his old comrades. Three men on their deathbeds had signed affidavits, showing that they were guilty of the very thing of which he was accused, he being an innocent dupe in the transaction. I don"t know just how it all came about, but he was exonerated completely. With this to back him up, he came to the Hall to plead for my grandfather"s forgiveness. He came many times, and finally it seems that grandfather believed his story.
Uncle Frank took up his residence at the Hall. I hated him from the beginning. He was a wicked man and always had been. I don"t believe what the affidavits said.
"Well, he soon learned that I was to be the heir. Everybody knew it. I was at the University. Grandfather had sent me there. It was my second year, for I had gone in very young. When I went home for the Christmas holidays, Uncle Frank was practically running the place. Grandfather didn"t really trust him, I"m sure of that. They had a couple of violent scenes New Year"s week up in the library. It was something about money.
Grandfather told me a little about it, but not much. He said Uncle Frank wanted him to change his will, claiming it was not fair to him, who had been so wrongfully accused. My grandfather told me that he would never change it. He might leave a certain amount in trust for Uncle Frank, but Jenison Hall was not to go to any Jenison whose name had ever been blackened.
"One day I went up to Richmond to spend the night with some college friends. My uncle Frank was already there, on business he said. Well, I found out what his business was--accidentally, of course. He was there to see a n.i.g.g.e.r lawyer! Think of that, Christine. A Jenison having dealings with a n.i.g.g.e.r lawyer. This lawyer had once been a slave on the Jenison place, a yellow boy whose name was Isaac--Isaac Perry. When the war broke out he went with my uncle as his body-servant. He was a smart, thieving fellow,--always too smart to be caught, but always under suspicion. My grandfather had given him some schooling because Isaac"s father was _his_ body-servant and he would have done anything for old Abraham. After the war Isaac was made a lawyer, "way down in South Carolina. The judges were darkies, they say. Later on he went to Richmond and did some business for the darkies there, besides conducting a barber shop.
"Well, I happened to go into his shop the evening I reached Richmond.
He was shaving Uncle Frank. They did not observe me as I sat back along the wall. I heard him tell Uncle Frank he would surely come to the hotel that night to see him. Uncle Frank said it was important and asked him to be sure and bring the papers. He left the shop without seeing me, and Isaac had forgotten me, I reckon. I wondered what business he and my uncle could have to discuss. That night I made it a point to be at the hotel. I saw Uncle Frank standing out in front. When Isaac came up he took him off down the street. I heard him say to Isaac that the hotel was not a good place for a n.i.g.g.e.r to be seen, except as a servant, even if he did come as a lawyer. So they went back to the barber shop, which was closed. Isaac opened the doors and they went in.
The blinds were shut. I waited until Uncle Frank came out, an hour later. He said to Isaac, who came no farther than the door, that he would be up again in about ten days to see how he was "getting on with it." Isaac said he"d have it fixed up "so slick that it would fool the old man hisself."
"When I went back to Jenison Hall I tried to tell grandfather about all this, but I didn"t do it. I couldn"t bear the thought of carrying tales. I went back to school, but I couldn"t get the thing out of my head."
Christine interrupted him, intense almost to breathlessness.
"They--they were fixing up a new will!" she whispered, vastly excited.
He smiled wanly. "I wish I could prove that. About three weeks ago I had a message from Uncle Frank, saying that grandfather was quite ill.
I was to come home. When I got to the Hall grandfather was much better, and seemed annoyed because my uncle had brought me home unnecessarily.
That very night he was murdered."
"Oh!" she whispered.
"He was shot by some one who fired through the parlor window. It happened at half-past eleven o"clock, a most unusual time for grandfather to be about. He was fully dressed when they found him a few minutes after the shooting. A heavy charge of buckshot had struck him in the breast. I--I can"t tell you any more about that. It was too horrible."
"I know, I know! Poor David!"
"I was studying in my room up to a short time before the shot was fired. The house was very still. Uncle Frank was downstairs with granddaddy. I couldn"t imagine what kept them up so long, talking.
Finally I heard Uncle Frank go upstairs to his room. Grandfather was pacing the parlor floor; I could hear the stumping. Finally he came out in the hall and called to me. I hurried downstairs. He was very much agitated. "David," he said, "do you remember a darky we used to have named Isaac?" I was startled. "Well, he has become a lawyer up in Richmond. He has done very well, and I want you to know what I have done for him. You are to own this place some day--soon, I fear. I have signed a paper to-night, deeding over to Isaac the little five-acre patch on the creek where he was born and where his father and grandfather were born. He saw your uncle Frank in Richmond recently and asked him if it would be possible for him to buy the ground. He wants to put up a building to be known as the Old Negroes" Home. I have thought it over. I did not sell it to him, David. I _gave_ it to him.
It is all quite regular and legal. The paper is in that drawer there.
You are taking the law course at the university. I want you to look over the agreement to-night or to-morrow morning, before it is taken over to the county seat. It is just as well that you, who are to be the next master of Jenison Hall, should understand all that there is in it."
""Has Isaac Perry been here?" I asked, for I was strangely troubled.
"He has," said granddaddy, "he brought the doc.u.ment over this evening.
Isaac seems likely to make something of himself, after all." "I will read it in the morning," I said, and then I told him that I was glad that he had given the ground. "Your uncle Frank advised me to tell you of it to-night," said he.
"I went upstairs to my work, leaving him below. Soon afterwards I went down again to get the paper, feeling that I might as well read it before going to bed. He was reading in the back parlor. I got the envelope out of the drawer in the front room and went back upstairs without disturbing him. A minute afterwards I heard the shot. My own gun was standing in the corner. I grabbed it up and crawled through a window on to the gallery, running down the back steps. As I reached the bottom I saw a man climbing over the fence to the right. Not dreaming that a tragedy had occurred, I rushed after him. He easily got away in the darkness. Then I returned to the house. As I came near I saw Isaac Perry--unmistakably Isaac Perry--at the corner. He turned and ran the instant he saw me. When he crossed in front of the lighted parlor windows I distinctly saw that he did not carry a gun. The man I chased had one. Just then a great cry came from the parlor. I rushed up to the window to look within. One of the panes of gla.s.s had been broken.
"My grandfather was lying on the floor. Two of the servants were standing near, looking at him as if paralyzed. There was blood on his white shirt front. Oh! I can"t tell you how it--"
He could not continue for a full minute or more. The girl was scarcely breathing.
"I just stood there and stared, the gun in my hand. Suddenly some one leaped upon me from behind. It was my uncle Frank and he was out of breath, very much excited. "You little devil!" he yelled two or three times. Then he called for help. Servants came running from all directions. I didn"t know what he meant. Soon I was to learn."
"He--he thought you killed him?" whispered Christine.
"He _said_ I killed him. I was dazed--I was crazy. It was a long time before I realized what was happening to me. The--the servants and the neighbors who came in wanted to lynch me--but Judge Gainsborough, who rode over in his night-clothes from his plantation, prevailed upon them to wait--to give me a hearing. My uncle Frank would have let them hang me. I began at last to realize how badly it looked for me. They laughed at my story of the man who ran away. My uncle Frank deliberately denied that Isaac Perry had been there. I was stupefied. It came over me suddenly that--that Uncle Frank had done the shooting. He had killed his own father!"
"The monster!"
"How wonderfully everything worked out against me. The gun, with one barrel empty, for I had fired it that very day in the woods; my presence at the window; the servants who saw me looking in; my uncle Frank"s tale of how he came out on the gallery above and saw me hiding in the dead lilac bushes, and afterwards creep up to the window to look in upon the thing I had done. He told of my attempt to run and of his straggle to hold me. One of the servants had seen me go down when granddaddy called to me, and again he had seen me go down quietly to the library after the paper. I did go quietly, it is true, so as not to disturb the old gentleman.
"They all rushed upstairs to search my room. Lying on my table was the long envelope. Judge Gainsborough opened it, so he says. They came downstairs and I shall never forget the look of horror in the Judge"s eyes as he stood there staring at me. "David," he said, "this is a terrible, terrible thing you have done." I couldn"t speak. "How did you know that your grandfather had made this new will?" Christine, the--the paper was a new will, giving everything to my uncle Frank, excepting a small bequest in money and a house and lot in Richmond, which, however, was to go to Uncle Frank in case of my death. The will looked genuine--everybody said so--even Judge Gainsborough. It had been drawn three weeks before and had been witnessed by George Whitman, who died ten days after signing, and Mortimer Simms, who, strangely enough, died three days later."
"It was a forgery--a false will?" she cried, trembling violently in her excitement.
"I know it was--I know it. My grandfather had told me of the deed. This was the envelope and the paper. There was no such deed to be found.
That makes me half believe that he did sign the will, thinking it was something else. My story about the deed was not believed. As for Isaac Perry, my uncle said that he left for New York soon after my grandfather"s visit to Richmond, doubtless when the will was drawn and signed. He could not have been near Jenison Hall at the time of the shooting. Uncle Frank produced a letter from Isaac, received that very day from New York, in which he said that he was going to Europe as the body-servant of a New York gentleman who had helped him to secure an education.
"They locked me in the cellar and put a guard over me until the sheriff could come up in the morning. Christine, there wasn"t a single chance for me to prove my innocence. I knew that Uncle Frank and Isaac Perry had arranged the whole devilish plot--how nicely they arranged it, too!
It worked out even better than they expected, for I unwittingly d.a.m.ned myself. I never can tell you of my feelings when the whole thing became clear to me. I must leave that to your imagination. I was as innocent as a babe, and yet, in the eyes of every one, as guilty as ever any murderer has been in this world. My only chance to escape certain hanging lay in escape. It was after three o"clock in the morning when I began to think of flight. I made up my mind that I could never hope for acquittal. I thought only of getting away from them and then devoting my whole life to finding the proof of my innocence. Isaac Perry can prove it--or my uncle. But, my uncle will not do it--and Isaac is not to be found. I discovered that when I reached Richmond two nights afterwards. He had left nearly three weeks before, never to return, it was said.
"Well, to make it short, I hit my darky guard over the head with a chunk of stove-wood. I hated to do it, but it was the only chance. You can"t kill a n.i.g.g.e.r by hitting him on the head. Then I crawled through a small hole in the cellar wall into the potato bins beyond. From there I could easily get into the back yard, provided no one was watching.
They were all on the other side of the wing, discussing the murder--and me. They said I"d surely be lynched the next night. Oh, it was awful. I crawled out of the window hole and sneaked off toward the hen-houses, below the old slave building. I don"t know when they missed me. I only know that I reached the woods and ran and ran till I thought I should drop. Some other time I will tell you of all I went through during the next week. You won"t believe a lot of it, I know,--it was so dreadful.
There were a good many times when I was ready to give up, and a good many times when they almost had me. G.o.d helped me, though. He heard my prayers. I"ll never again think there is no G.o.d, as a lot of us used to think at the University. You don"t know the agony of dread and fear in which I"m living now. Something tells me that they will get me and that I"ll never have the chance to find Isaac Perry, to force him to tell the truth."
"I am sure you will find him, David," she said, but her heart was very cold.
The circus tents were just ahead of them now. The band was playing and people were hurrying along the poorly lighted streets, sheltered by umbrellas, all bound for the "grounds."