"If I find I can't clear myself, I am going back there and shoot him down like a dog--just as he shot his poor old fa--father." His body shook with the racking sobs that choked him. "You must not do that," she implored, terrified. "Then they would surely hang you." "Ah, but I wouldn't mind it then," he said between his teeth. "David, you must let mother talk with you. She can tell you what to do. Don't think of--of that, please, please don't." He turned upon her, amazed. "Don't you think that he _ought_ to be killed?" he demanded. "Can't a judge order him to be hung?" she asked encouragingly. "But they'd never be able to prove it on him. Christine, I--I wouldn't be surprised if he has also killed Isaac Perry. I've thought of that, too. Isaac is too dangerous to be left alive, don't you see. He drew the will and perhaps forged granddaddy's name, and also that of George Whitman, after Whitman's death. Maybe granddaddy really signed the will, thinking it was the transfer. I--" "Do you think your uncle wanted you to be hanged for something you didn't do,--for a murder he committed himself?" "Why not? I was in the way. If they lynched me at once, he could feel very secure. Besides, he knew of the other will, dated years ago, which is in the bank at Richmond. Of course, the fraudulent will takes the place of the old one." David did not then tell her of his stealthy return to Jenison Hall two nights after his flight and before the funeral. On this occasion he not only secured the envelope containing the three thousand dollars, hidden in his mother's black leather trunk, but from a place of concealment he was forced to hear such damning talk regarding himself that he again stole away, fully convinced that his wild design to charge his uncle with the crime would be absolutely suicidal. A sharp exclamation from the girl brought him out of his last fit of abstraction. They were quite near to the tents. "We are late," she cried nervously. "I didn't think of the time. The band is playing the waltz--that's the second piece before the tournament. We must hurry. Oh, I _do_ hope father has not missed us!" There was abject terror in her voice. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, apprehending the outcome for her alone. "We must make for the rear of the dressing-tent. Hurry, Christine." They broke into a run, intending to make a wide circuit of the main-tops. She was breathless with anxiety. He grasped her arm to help her across the rough ground. "If he knew, he would drive you away," she cried. She was not thinking of herself. Near the dressing-tent they were met by Mrs. Braddock, who had started out to look for them. "Hurry," she whispered. "Go in on the other side, Jack--quickly. Come this way, Christine. Your father is coming back through the main-top. Mr. Briggs and Professor Hanson are detaining him near the band section--talking of a change in the music. Oh, I've been so nervous!"