"I don't want your forgiveness."
"Well, then for thinking me a 'bad man.'"
"You ought to beg my pardon. I was a friend, at least you say I
acted like one--and you didn't care enough to right yourself with
me."
"Maybe I cared too much to risk trying it. I knew there would be
proof some time, and I decided to lie under the suspicion until I
could get it. I see now that wasn't kind or fair to you. I am
sorry I didn't tell y'u all about it. May I tell y'u the story
now?"
"If you wish."
It was a long story, but the main points can be told in a
paragraph. The grandfather of the two cousins, General Edward
Bannister, had worn the Confederate gray for four years, and had
lost an arm in the service of the flag with the stars and bars.
After the war he returned to his home in Virginia to find it in
ruins, his slaves freed and his fields mortgaged. He had pulled
himself together for another start, and had practiced law in the
little town where his family had lived for generations. Of his
two sons, one was a ne'er-do-well. He was one of those brilliant
fellows of whom much is expected that never develops. He had a
taste for low company, married beneath him, and, after a career
that was a continual mortification and humiliation to his father,
was killed in a drunken brawl under disgraceful circumstances,
leaving behind a son named for the general.
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