o
longer ruled his splendid body. His body itself, relaxing, sank forward,
his head at one side, his hand dropping limp. A smile drew down the
corner of his mouth--a smile horrible in its pathos; mocking, and yet
beseeching.

* * * * *

At last I rubbed the blood from my own face and stooped to read what he
had written. Then I thanked God that he was dead, knowing how impossible
it would have been elsewise for me to stay my hand. These were the
words:

"I, Gordon Orme, dying July 21, 1861, confess that I killed John
Cowles, Senior, in the month of April, 1860, at the road near
Wallingford. I wanted the horse, but had to kill Cowles. Later took
the money. I was a secret agent, detailed for work among U.S. Army
men.

"I, Gordon Orme, having seduced Grace Sheraton, asked John Cowles
to marry her to cover up that act.

"I, Gordon Orme, appoint John Cowles my executor. I ask him to
fulfill last request. I give him what property I have on my person
for his own. Further, I say not; and being long ago held as dead, I
make no bequests as to other property whatsoever.--Gordon Orme. In
Virginia, U.S.A."

It was he, then, who had in cold blood killed my father! That horrid
riddle at last was read. In that confession I saw only his intent to
give me his last touch of misery and pain. It was some moments before I
could read all the puzzle of his speech, half of which had promised me
wretchedness, and half happiness. Then slowly I realized what I held in
my hand. It was the proof of his guilt, of my innocence. He had robbed
me of my father. He had given me--what? At least he had given me a
chance. Perhaps Ellen Meriwether would believe!

* * * * *

It was my duty to care for the personal belongings of Gordon Orme; but
regarding these matters a soldier does not care to speak. I took from
his coat a long, folded leather book. It was hours later, indeed late
the following morning, before I looked into it. During the night I was
busy making my escape from that fated field. As I came from the rear,
mounted, I was supposed to be of the Confederate forces, and so I got
through the weary and scattered columns of pursuit, already overloaded
with prisoners. By morning I was far on my way toward the Potomac. Then
I felt in my pockets, and opened the wallet I had found en Orme's body.

It held various memoranda, certain writin