XX. — THE KNIFE.
“Let me continue, I beg,” continued General Davenant, gloomily. “Your look of astonishment is quite natural; you feel the indignation of a gentleman at my words; but allow me to go on with my narrative.
“Poor George Conway was buried on the day after the discovery of his body, and an immense concourse accompanied him to his grave. The funeral procession was a mile long, for the notoriety attached to the event had drawn people from far and near; and when the body reached the grave-yard, the crowd nearly filled the small enclosure.
“I was present in my carriage with my wife, and my son Charles yonder, then a child in arms. You will understand, colonel, that I had not the heart to be absent. I had long ceased to feel a sentiment of any great regard for the Conways; but at the intelligence of George’s sudden death, all my old friendship had revived—the old kindly feeling came back; pity banished all enmity. I thought of his former love for me, and I determined to do all that remained in my power to show my sympathy—attend his funeral among those who mourned him.
“Well, the body was borne to the grave, the service read, and the remains of the unfortunate gentleman deposited in their last resting-place. Then the clods rattled on the coffin, the service ended, and George Conway had passed away from all eyes.
“I looked at his poor wife and brother with tears in my eyes. All my enmity was gone—my memory went back to the old scenes; at that instant I could have reached out my arms, and drawn the bereaved brother to my heart, mingling my tears with his own.
“All at once, however, I looked at Judge Conway with astonishment. I had expected to see him overwhelmed with grief—but as he now raised his head, and turned in the direction of the spot where I was standing, I saw that his features were convulsed with wrath. His cheeks were crimson, his teeth clenched, his eyes injected with blood. Suddenly these bloodshot eyes met my own—the cheeks a moment before so red, grew pale—and exclaiming, ‘It is you who murdered my brother!’ he threw himself upon me with the fury of a wild animal, and his fingers were nearly buried in my throat.
“The assault was so sudden and terrible that I staggered back, and nearly fell over the grave.
“Then regaining my self-possession, I caught Judge Conway by the throat in turn, hurled him from me, and stood confronting him, pale, panting, my throat bleeding—and resolved if he attacked me again to put him to death with the first weapon upon which I could lay my hand.
“He was, meanwhile, struggling in the hands of his friends, who, by main force, held him back.