[Frontispiece: "They sprang after me, but started back with a quick exclamation, for they looked into the black muzzle of my father's revolver." (Chapter XXXVII.)] FALSE EVIDENCE BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM _Author of "Anne, the Adventuress," "The Traitors," "Conspirators," etc._ WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED, LONDON, MELBOURNE AND TORONTO. 1911. _This Book, written by the Author some years ago, is now issued in Library form for the first time._ CONTENTS CHAP. PROLOGUE I. MY APOLOGY II. THE FIRST CLOUD III. "THE BOY MUST BE TOLD" IV. "A MYSTERIOUS MEETING" V. "ON BOSSINGTON HEADLAND" VI. AN INTERRUPTED ADDRESS VII. "I AM TOLD" VIII. "MY VOW" IX. AN UNEXPECTED VISIT X. THE FIRST MOVE XI. COLONEL DEVEREUX'S LAND AGENT XII. AT DEVEREUX COURT XIII. COLONEL SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX, BART. XIV. THE BEGINNING OF DANGER XV. A FIGHT FOR LIFE XVI. MY CONVALESCENCE XVII. A MOONLIGHT RIDE XVIII. A STRANGE INTERVIEW XIX. MARIAN SURPRISES ME XX. AMONGST THE BULRUSHES XXI. RUPERT DEVEREUX XXII. FACE TO FACE XXIII. IN THE PICTURE GALLERY XXIV. A MIDNIGHT VISITOR XXV. "COUSINS!" XXVI. I "GIVE WARNING" XXVII. SIR FRANCIS DEVEREUX'S APPEAL XXVIII. GOOD-BYE TO DEVEREUX COURT XXIX. I AM TEMPTED XXX. LIAR AND COWARD XXXI. MY FATHER AND I XXXII. THE BRIGANDS' HOME XXXIII. AT PALERMO XXXIV. VISITORS FROM ROME XXXV. WE ENTERTAIN AT THE VILLA XXXVI. MR. BURTON LEIGH XXXVII. CUT DOWN XXXVIII. AN OMINOUS NOTE XXXIX. "MY FATHER'S RESOLUTION" XL. A HORRIBLE MISTAKE XLI. "TWO YEARS AFTER" XLII. A TRAITOROUS LOVE XLIII. EXPIATION XLIV. "HERO" FALSE EVIDENCE PROLOGUE The last sally had been made and repulsed, the last shot fired; the fight was over, and victory remained with the white men. And yet, after all, was it a victory or a massacre? If you were a stay-at-home, and read the report from the telegrams in your club, or in the triumphant columns of the daily papers, especially those on the side of the Ministry, you would certainly have pronounced it the former. But if you had been there on the spot, and had seen the half-naked, ill-armed natives, with the fire of patriotism blazing in their eyes and leaping in their hearts--had seen them being shot down in rows by the merciless guns of the English batteries--another view of the matter might have presented itself to you. It might have occurred to you that these men were fighting on their own soil for their freedom and their country, and that the spirit which was blinding their eyes to the hopelessness of resistance, and urging them on to resist the stranger's progress with such passionate ineffectiveness, was after all, a natural and a poetic one. But, after all, this has nothing to do with my story.