They took this money to be the profits of murder! The spoils of a dreadful sin! Speechless, he turned to Mrs. Braddock. There was no mistaking the look of pain and distress in her dark eyes. There were doubt and wonder there, too. It seemed to him that she shrank back a step; although, as a matter of fact, she remained as motionless as a statue. Christine was glowing upon him in grateful amazement, unutterable relief in her gaze. To her, it meant only that he was rich and could save himself. It did not occur to her that he had come by the riches dishonestly, nor was she at once conscious of a feeling that her father would do wrong to accept the tribute. It was not until later that she felt the shock of revulsion. "It is my money!" cried David, speaking to Mrs. Braddock. "Every cent of it! I--I know what you are thinking. You think I stole it." His eyes were flashing and his chin was held high now. "I'll kill any one who says I steal. I'd sooner commit murder a thousand times than to steal." "How did you--come by all that money?" asked Mrs. Braddock, more than half convinced by his fervor. "That's what I'd like to know," added her husband. "Here! Lemme take that pocket-book." David jerked his hand loose and abruptly thrust the purse into the hand of the astonished Mrs. Braddock. "Look at it," he cried passionately. "Open the purse. It's still in the sealed envelope, just as my father left it when he went off to the war the second time--after he was wounded. He left it with my mother for me. No one has ever opened the package. It was in my mother's trunk until she died. She wouldn't put it in a bank. My uncle Frank never knew that she had it; he doesn't know that I have it now. But it is mine. My father gave it to me when I was six years old. See what it says on the envelope. It's his own writing. 'For my son David. To be used in the acquiring of an education if I should fall in this dear, beloved cause, which now seems lost. God defend us all!' See! 'Arthur Brodalbin Jenison.' My father's signature. Here is the seal of his ring. It is my money." Even Thomas Braddock was swayed, convinced by the eloquence of that fierce appeal. He stared at the boy, his lips apart, his cigar hanging limply from one corner of his mouth. "By thunder!" he murmured, frankly surprised in himself. "I believe the tale, hang me if I don't!" But David was waiting only for the verdict of the woman. Mrs. Braddock had not glanced at the envelope that she now clutched in her tense fingers; her eyes were only for the eager, chalk-colored face of the boy. Tears welled up in her warm eyes as he paused for breath. "I believe you, too--yes, yes, my boy, we all believe you," she cried, putting out her hand to him. He snatched it up and kissed it. At that instant the ringmaster, white with rage, dashed in from the big tent. "Say, what's the matter with you loafers?" The crowd of tumblers jumped out of the trance as if shot.