e, and unavenged! No. I'll not do
that. Wedding-bells, even slowly rung, would sound strangely, I think,
to his ears. And as for that murderer, he might say when he heard them,
'Are the dead so soon forgot? Then up, heart! for this bridegroom will
not trouble me.' Major Churchill, I will live alone at Greenwood until I
have proof which will convince a judge and jury that my brother was not
the only man who spurred from that ford by the river road! Lewis Rand
may wind and double, but I'll scotch him yet, there by Indian Run! I'll
transfix him there, there on that very strand, and call the world to see
the man who murdered Ludwell Cary! When that's done, I'll rest, maybe,
and think of happiness."

Major Churchill sat back in the deep old armchair and rested his head
upon his hand. The hand was a trembling hand; the old soldier, grey and
stark, with his pinned-up sleeve, looked suddenly a beaten soldier,
conquered and fugitive. The young man saw the shaking hand. "You need no
proof, sir," he said harshly. "I know that you know. You knew there
beside the stream, the day we found him."

"Yes, Fair."

"And did you not know that I knew?"

"I have not been perfectly certain, but--yes, I believed you to know."

"I will not say that, knowing me,--for until now I have hardly known
myself,--but knowing my father, sir, could you look for another course
from his son? My brother's blood cries from the ground. There is no rest
and no peace for me until his murderer pays!"

"Yes, Fair."

"I cannot tell you what my brother was to me. Brother of the flesh and
of the spirit too--David--Jonathan. His friends mine and his enemies
mine, his honour mine--"

"Yes, Fair. It was so I loved Henry Churchill."

The young man checked his speech, gazed at his guest a moment in
silence, and turned away. The quiet held in the old room where bygone
Carys looked from the walls, but at last the Major spoke with violence.
"Don't think that I do not hate that man! Spare him, in himself, one
iota of the penalty--not I! Cheat justice, see the law futile to protect
an outraged people, stay the hangman's hand--am I one to will that? No
man can accuse me of a forgiving spirit! I, too, loved your brother; I,
too, believe in the blood debt! Ask me of this man himself, and I say,
'Right! Let him have it to the hilt--death and shame!' But--but--"

The Major's voice, high and shaking with passion, broke with a gasp. He
had sat erect to speak, but now he sa