As he spoke, his gaze was riveted firmly upon the young man’s countenance. Though expressing curiosity, there was no change to indicate that Campbell had ever heard of the name before. “I see you do not know—I might have known that they would never have told you. It is well. You will not be so prejudiced, and will be more likely to do me justice. Now listen well, and you will see why I hate your family and that of Hawksley. “We three were close neighbors living then in the southern part of Illinois. Almost from childhood we had been play-mates and bosom friends. And such we might have remained to this day, only for the treachery of one—of Christopher Hawksley, the brother of Archibald. “We three men married, but he—Chris—was single. Though living with his brother, he was quite as much at home while at your father’s house, or at mine. Indeed the gossips began to whisper that he was more so, and to point the finger of scorn at me. “For a time I closed my ears to these rumors, but at my heart there gnawed a horrible fear that what I dreaded was but too well founded. He and she had long been intimate, and at one time were reported betrothed, but then a coldness came between them, and she accepted me. You see, young man, I am frank with you,” and Mestayer smiled bitterly. “I mean to tell you all—both for and against myself. “I spoke to her of the rumors, but she was of a quick, passionate temper, and for the first time since marriage we had hot and angry words together. She refused to answer me, saying that I insulted her by the suspicion. While still angry, I met Christopher Hawksley and forbid him ever entering my house, or addressing my wife at any time or place where they might chance to meet. “He seemed surprised—I thought then that he looked guilty, and I could scarcely keep my hands from his throat. But I did, and went home with a heart still more bitter and wicked. “Three days after this, as I returned from the field somewhat earlier than usual, I saw Hawksley parting from my wife at the door. They seemed frightened and confused at my appearance, and I dare say they had cause. “The next I remember is finding myself standing over his quivering and senseless body, my hands covered with blood, my wife crying for me to have mercy—not to stain my soul with murder. I had not killed because I had no weapons with me, I suppose. But I had beaten him almost to death with my naked fists. “Well, the word soon spread that I had brutally murdered the man, and the excitement was great. Hawksley was one of those general favorites, half-fool, half-rogue, who spent his money with a lavish hand, making friends with everybody, while I, naturally reserved, had become morose and unsociable since these sickening rumors began to meet my ear. So you see it took very little to get up a hue and cry against me.