All Albemarle knew and liked him under that aspect. The men about him
had seen grief and horror and rage, each exhibited strongly out of a
strong nature. They now saw, from out of youth and the war of emotions,
the man emerge. He came slowly but steadfastly, a man with a set
purpose, which he was like to pursue through life. The growth of years
took place almost at once, though not the growth that would have been
but for this releasing stroke. Latencies in the backward and abysm of
inheritance that would not have stirred under a less tremendous
stimulus stirred under this, grew, and pushed aside the gay and even
life that might have been. The growth was rapid and visible, as visible
the sharp turn from every former shining goal to one which, an hour
before, the runner had not seen. The men who watched him somewhat held
their breath.

The change that was wrought was profound. The man who was stretched upon
the earth looked now the younger of the two. He seemed also to have
given something of the calmness of his state, for Fairfax Cary no longer
grieved with voice or gesture or convulsion of feature. He was quiet,
pale, and resolute, and he now spoke to the sheriff evenly enough. "Yes,
Mr. Garrett, we'll take him home. Where is the litter?"

Four men brought it forward. Ludwell Cary was lifted by his brother and
Colonel Churchill and laid reverently upon the stretcher of branches
where the green leaves nodded above his quiet face. The little
procession formed and, with the younger Cary walking beside the litter,
crossed the shallow ford and moved slowly up the winding river road.

CHAPTER XXXIII

GREENWOOD

The murder, by an unknown hand, of Ludwell Cary, shot through the heart,
beside Indian Run, as he rode from Malplaquet to Greenwood, became the
overwhelming topic of interest in Albemarle, and a chief subject far and
wide throughout the great state. His kinsmen and connections were
numerous, and he had himself been a man widely known, by many greatly
liked, and by a few well loved. There arose from town and country a cry
of grief and wrath, a great wave of sympathy for the one man left of all
the Greenwood Carys, solitary now in the old brick house behind the line
of oaks, and a loud demand for the speedy discovery and apprehension of
the murderer. Indignation was high, the Court House and the Court House
yard crowded on the morning of the inquest, the verdict brought in by
the coroner's jury received by t