The Rose in the Ring

by George Barr McCutcheon

"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.