The motive
that induced me to withdraw my challenge, was one which you will
probably understand. The pale face of the dead George Conway had risen
up before me--I knew his brother's deep love for him--that he regarded
me as the dead man's murderer; and I no longer writhed under that
public insult in the court-house, or, at least controlled myself. 'Let
him go on his way, poor, stricken heart!' I said with deep pity; 'I
forgive him, and will not avenge that affront to me!'
"Such is my history, colonel. It is sad, you see. I have related it to
explain what has come to your knowledge--the bitter hostility which
Judge Conway indulges toward me, and his frowns at the very name of
Davenant. These events occurred more than ten years ago. During all
that time, he has been laboring under the belief that I am really
guilty of his brother's blood. See where my 'high pride' has conducted
me," said General Davenant, with a smile of inexpressible melancholy
and bitterness. "I was proud and disdainful on the day of my trial--I
would not use the common weapons of defence--I risked my life by
refusing counsel, and acknowledging the ownership of that knife. Pride,
hauteur, a sort of disdain at refuting a charge of base dishonor--that
was my sentiment then, and I remain as haughty to-day! I am a
Davenant--I was found 'not guilty'--why go and tell Judge Conway the
contents of that letter received in the court-house?"
"The contents of the letter, general?"
"Yes, colonel.
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