A Man of Honor

by George Cary Eggleston

"You're right, Barksdale, without a doubt," said the commonwealth's attorney; "but how are we going to make a jury see it? There's plenty of evidence to found an indictment on, but I'm afraid there a'n't enough to secure a conviction."

"That's true," said Billy. "But we must do our very best. If we can't convict both, we may one; and even if we fail altogether in the prosecution, we will at least expose the rascals, and this county will be too hot for them afterwards. Foggy is always shaky in the knees, and if we give him half a chance will turn state's evidence. Why not sound him on the subject?"

Foggy needed very little sounding indeed. At the first intimation that there might be hope for him if he would tell what he knew he volunteered a confession, which bore out Billy's theory to the letter. From his statement, too, it appeared that Harrison was the author of the whole scheme. He had overborne Ewing's scruples, and by dint of threats compelled him to commit a practical forgery by writing his own name in such a way as to make it appear to be his father's. While Foggy was at it he made a clean breast, telling all about his partnership with Harrison in the gambling operations, and admitting that the note Harrison held was dated ahead and given solely for a gambling debt.

The commonwealth's attorney agreed to enter a nolle prosequi in Foggy's case, and to transfer him, at the trial, from the prisoner's box to the witness stand.

When Billy came out from this conference he found Major Pagebrook awaiting an opportunity to speak to him. The major, it seems, after going home had returned to the Court House.

"Billy," he said, "I know now about that letter from Robert to Ewing. Sarah Ann has told me she read it when it came. What is to be done about it?"

"Nothing," said Billy, "except that you will of course return Robert the extra three hundred dollars he has paid you."

"Of course I'll do that. But I mean—the fact is I don't want that letter to appear on the trial. You will have to tell where you got it, and it will come out, in spite of everything, that Sarah Ann knew of it."

"Well, Cousin Edwin, what am I to do? This has been a wretched business from first to last. Poor Bob has suffered severely for Ewing's fault, and—I must speak plainly—through Cous—through your wife's iniquity. Not only has he had to pay the money twice, he has been sent to jail, and but for a lucky accident his reputation as an honorable man would have been destroyed forever, and that merely to gratify your wife's petty and unreasonable spite against him. It became my duty to unravel this mystery for the sake of freeing Bob from an unjust and undeserved disgrace. In doing that I have accidentally stumbled upon the discovery of a crime, and even if it were not illegal I am not the man to compound a felony. For you I am heartily sorry, but your wife is only reaping what she has sown. I would do anything honorable to spare your feelings, Cousin Edwin, but I can not help giving evidence in this case. I really do not see, however, precisely how Bob's letter can be used as evidence. If it had been sufficient in itself to establish the facts to which it referred I should have used it to set Bob right, and the thing would have ended there. But Bob's statement was of course an interested one, and I feared that after a time, if not immediately, gossip would seize upon that point and say the whole thing was made up merely to clear Bob. I knew he would never show Ewing's letter to which his was a reply, and so I set myself to work hunting up the draft. I don't see how the letter can well come up on the trial, but if it should become necessary for me to tell about it, I must tell all about it, of course."

Major Pagebrook walked away, his head bowed as if there were a heavy weight upon his shoulders, and Billy pitied him heartily. This woman, who, in her groundless malignity, had wrought so much wrong and brought so much of sorrow upon the good old man, was his wife, and he could not free himself from the fact or its consequences. He had never willingly done a wrong in his life, and it seemed peculiarly hard that he should now have to suffer so sorely for the sins of the woman whom he called wife.