No sooner had I taken
this step than the whole country seemed to have left their homes to
visit me in my prison. On the evening of the scene at the grave, twenty
persons had called at the 'Pines,' to express their sympathy and
indignation at the charge against me. Now, when the iron door of the
law had closed upon me, and I was a real prisoner, the visitors came in
throngs without number. One and all, they treated the charge as the
mere result of Judge Conway's fury--some laughed at, others denounced
it as an attempt to entrap and destroy me--all were certain that an
investigation would at once demonstrate my innocence, and restore me to
liberty and honor.
"Alas! I could only thank my friends, and reply that I hoped that such
would be the result. But when they had left me alone, I fell into fits
of the deepest dejection.
"What proofs could I give that I was innocent? There was a terrible
array of circumstances, on the contrary, to support the hypothesis of
my guilt--much more than I have mentioned, colonel. I had visited the
courthouse on the same day with poor George Conway, and for the first
time in twenty years had exchanged words with him. And the words were
unfriendly. We had both been in the clerk's office of the county, when
that gentleman asked me some common-place question--in what year such a
person had died, and his will had been recorded, I think.
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