David sat on a trunk, holding a wet towel to his red, swollen cheek. He had been steadied by the advice of these good friends, all of whom urged him for the sake of others to attempt no violent return for the blow Braddock had given him. Never was mortal so sore at heart as he, but he read wisdom in their argument. "He ain't responsible," said Joey, putting the whole of his summing up in a single phrase. The great news had finally found a clear lodgment in David's brain. He had listened to the reading of the newspaper story by Ruby Noakes. It was now very plain to him that his present vicissitudes were at an end. The joy and relief that filled his soul were counterbalanced to some extent by the fact that Mrs. Braddock and Christine had not come up to congratulate him. He could not understand this and was hurt. It is not necessary to repeat the newspaper account in full. The sensational story took up columns in the paper; the history of the case was repeated from the murder of old Mr. Jenison to the final tragedy. Considerable space and speculation were given to the unhappy accusation of the grandson, who had disappeared as if from the face of the earth. It was the opinion of the paper, as well as of the officers of the law, that the proud young man, unable to face the cruel disgrace and injustice, had made way with himself. It was announced in heavy black type that his county would not rest until the body of the last of the Jenisons was found and laid away with the greatest ceremony. David laughed with the others at this laudable but tardy appreciation. As for the story of Frank Jenison's death, it was, according to the newspaper, "so strange that fiction paled by contrast." Jenison and his negro accomplice, Isaac Perry, had quarreled in one of the private card-rooms at Brainard's place in Richmond, where they had met by appointment. The negro, driven desperate and in great fear of the white man, finally drew a revolver and began firing wildly at his employer, who returned the shots. Perry was killed by a bullet which found his heart. One of the negro's shots, however, had penetrated the abdomen of Frank Jenison. He was mortally wounded. On being informed by the surgeons that he had but a few hours to live, the miserable wretch directed that his confession be written out at his dictation, that he might put his signature to it and thereby set his unhappy nephew straight in the eyes of a condemning world. The full text of this confession was printed. The reader of this tale has heard enough of it, in one way or another, to determine for himself the chief facts in connection with the murder of old Mr. Jenison. It was Frank Jenison who shot him, deliberately laying his plans so as to direct suspicion to David. The nephew played into his hands in a most startling manner. A more convincing set of circumstances could not have been imagined, much less prepared.