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SONS AND FATHERS
by
HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS.
Published by
The J. W. Burke Company
Macon, Georgia
The First-Prize Story
In The Chicago Record's series of "Stories of Mystery"
This story--out of 816 competing--was awarded the FIRST
PRIZE--$10,000--in The Chicago Record's "$30,000
to Authors" competition.
Copyright 1896, by Harry Stillwell Edwards.
Copyright 1921, by Harry Stillwell Edwards.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. TWO SONS.
CHAPTER II. THE STRANGER ON THE THRESHOLD.
CHAPTER III. A BREATH FROM THE OLD SOUTH.
CHAPTER IV. THE MOTHER'S ROOM.
CHAPTER V. THE STRANGER IN THE LIBRARY.
CHAPTER VI. "WHO SAYS THERE CAN BE A 'TOO LATE' FOR THE
IMMORTAL MIND?"
CHAPTER VII. "BACK! WOULD YOU MURDER HER?"
CHAPTER VIII. ON THE BACK TRAIL.
CHAPTER IX. THE TRAGEDY IN THE STORM.
CHAPTER X. "GOD PITY ME! GOD PITY ME!"
CHAPTER XI. IN THE CRIMSON OF SUNSET.
CHAPTER XII. THE OLD SOUTH VERSUS THE NEW.
CHAPTER XIII. FEELING THE ENEMY.
CHAPTER XIV. THE OLD SOUTH DRAWS THE SWORD.
CHAPTER XV. "IN ALL THE WORLD, NO FAIRER FLOWER THAN THIS!"
CHAPTER XVI. BEYOND THE SHADOW OF A DOUBT.
CHAPTER XVII. "IF I MEET THE MAN!"
CHAPTER XVIII. HOW THE CHALLENGE WAS WRITTEN.
CHAPTER XIX. BROUGHT TO BAY.
CHAPTER XX. IN THE HANDS OF THEIR FRIENDS.
CHAPTER XXI. "THE WITNESS IS DEAD."
CHAPTER XXII. THE DUEL AT SUNRISE.
CHAPTER XXIII. THE SHADOW OVER THE HALL.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE PROFILE ON THE MOON.
CHAPTER XXV. THE MIDNIGHT SEARCH.
CHAPTER XXVI. GATHERING THE CLEWS.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE FACE THAT CAME IN DREAMS.
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE THREE PICTURES.
CHAPTER XXIX. "HOME SWEET HOME."
CHAPTER XXX. THE RAINBOW IN THE MIST.
CHAPTER XXXI. THE HAND OF SCIENCE.
CHAPTER XXXII. THE FLASHLIGHT PHOTOGRAPH.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE TRADE WITH SLIPPERY DICK.
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE FACE OF THE BODY-SNATCHER.
CHAPTER XXXV. THE GRAVE IN THE PAST.
CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PLEDGE THAT WAS GIVEN.
CHAPTER XXXVII. "WHICH OF THE TWO WAS MY MOTHER?"
CHAPTER XXXVIII. UNDER THE SPELL.
CHAPTER XXXIX. BARKSDALE'S WARNING.
CHAPTER XL. THE HIDDEN HAND.
CHAPTER XLI. WITH THE WOMAN WHO LOVED HIM.
CHAPTER XLII. THE SONG THE OCEAN SANG.
CHAPTER XLIII. THE DEATH OF GASPARD LEVIGNE.
CHAPTER XLIV. THE HEART OF CAMBIA.
CHAPTER XLV. THE MAN WITH THE TORCH.
CHAPTER XLVI. WHAT THE SHEET HID.
CHAPTER XLVII. ON THE MARGINS OF TWO WORLDS.
CHAPTER XLVIII. WAR TO THE KNIFE.
CHAPTER XLIX. PREPARING THE MINE.
CHAPTER L. SLIPPERY DICK RIGHTS A WRONG.
CHAPTER LI. A WOMAN'S WIT CONQUERS.
CHAPTER LII. DEATH OF COL. MONTJOY.
CHAPTER LIII. THE ESCAPE OF AMOS ROYSON.
CHAPTER LIV. HOW A DEBT WAS PAID.
CHAPTER LV. THE UNOPENED LETTER.
CHAPTER LVI. "WOMAN, WHAT WAS HE TO YOU?"
CHAPTER LVII. FRAGMENTARY LIFE RECORDS.
CHAPTER LVIII. "THE LAST SCENE OF ALL"
SONS AND FATHERS
CHAPTER I.
TWO SONS.
At a little station in one of the gulf states, where the east and west
trains leave and pick up a few passengers daily, there met in the summer
of 1888 two men who since they are to appear frequently in this record,
are worthy of description. One who alighted from the west-bound train
was about 29 years of age. Tall and slender, he wore the usual
four-button cutaway coat, with vest and trousers to match, which,
despite its inappropriateness in such a climate, was the dress of the
young city man of the south, in obedience to the fashion set by the
northern metropolis. His small feet were incased in neat half-moroccos,
and his head protected by the regulation derby of that year. There was
an inch of white cuffs visible upon his wrists, held with silver link
buttons, and an inch and a half of standing collar, points turned down.
He carried a small traveling bag of alligator skin swung lightly over
his left shoulder, after the English style, and a silk umbrella in lieu
of a cane. This man paced the platform patiently.
His neighbor was about the same age, dressed in a plain gray cassimer
suit. He wore a soft felt traveling hat and the regulation linen. He
was, however, of heavier build, derived apparently from free living, and
restless, since he moved rapidly from point to point, speaking with
train hands and others, his easy, good-fellow air invariably securing
him courtesy. His face was full and a trifle florid, but very mobile in
expression; while that of the first mentioned was somewhat sallow and
softened almost to sadness by gray eyes and long lashes. As they passed
each other the difference was both noticed and felt. The impressions
that the two would have conveyed to an analyst were action and
reflection. Perhaps in the case of the man in gray the impression would
have been heightened by sight of his two great commercial traveling bags
of Russia leather, bearing the initials "N. M. Jr."
There was one other passenger on the platform--a very handsome young
woman, seated on her trunk and trying to interest herself in a pamphlet
spread upon her lap, but from time to time she lifted her face, and when
the eyes of the man glanced her way she lowered hers with a half-smile
on her lips. There was something in his tone and manner that disarmed
reserve.
An officer in uniform came from the little eating-house near by and
approached the party.
"Are there any passengers for the coast here?" he asked.
"I am going to Charleston," the young lady said.
"Where are you from, miss?" Then, seeing her surprise, he continued:
"You must excuse the question but I am a quarantine officer and
Charleston has quarantined against all points that have been exposed to
yellow fever."
"That, then, does not include me," she said, confidently. "I am from
Montgomery, where there is no yellow fever, and a strict quarantine."
"Have you a health certificate?"
"A what?"
"A ticket from any of the authorities or physicians in Montgomery."
"No, sir; I am Miss Kitty Blair, and going to visit friends in
Charleston."
The officer looked embarrassed. The health-certificate regulation and
inland quarantine were new and forced him frequently into unpleasant
positions.
"You will excuse me," he said, finally; "but have you anything that
could establish that fact, visiting cards, correspondence--"
"I have told you," she replied, flushing a little, "who I am and where I
am from."
"That would be sufficient, miss, if all that is needed is a lady's word,
but I am compelled to keep all persons from the east-bound train who
cannot prove their residence in a non-infected district. The law is
impartial."
"And I cannot go on, then?" There were anxiety and pathos in her eyes
and tones. The gentleman in gray approached.
"I can fix that, sir," he said, briskly addressing the officer. "I am
not personally acquainted with Miss Blair, but I can testify to what she
says as true. I have seen her in Montgomery almost daily. My name is
Montjoy--Norton Montjoy, Jr. Here are my letters and my baggage is over
yonder."
"Are you a son of Col. Norton Montjoy of Georgia, colonel of the old
'fire-eaters,' as we used to call the regiment?"
"Yes, indeed," and a happy smile illumined his face.
"My name is Throckmorton," said the officer. "I followed your father
three years during the war, and you are--by Jove! you are the brat that
they once brought to camp and introduced as the latest infantry recruit!
Well, I see the likeness now."
The two men shook hands fervently. The officer bowed to the lady. "The
matter is all right," he said, smiling; "I will give you a paper
presently that will carry you through." The new friends then walked
aside talking with animation. The quarantine officer soon got into war
anecdotes. The other stranger was now left to the amusement of watching
the varying expressions of the girl's face. She continued low over her
book and began to laugh. Presently, with a supreme effort she recovered
herself. Montjoy had shaken off his father's admirer and was coming her
way. She looked up shyly. "I am very much obliged to you for getting me
out of trouble; I----"
"Don't mention it, miss; these fellows haven't much discretion."
"But what a fib it was!"
"How?"
"I haven't been in Montgomery in two weeks. I came here from an aunt's
in Macon."
"And I haven't been there in six months!" His laugh was hearty and
infectious. "Here comes your train; let me put you aboard." He secured
her a seat; the repentant quarantine officer supplied her with a ticket,
and then, shaking hands again with his father's friend, Montjoy hurried
to the southwester, which was threatening to get under way. The other
traveler was in and had a window open on the shady side.
There were men only in the car, and as Montjoy entered he drew off his
coat and dropped it upon his bags. The motion of the starting train did
not add to his comfort. The red dust poured in through the open windows,
invading and irritating the lungs. He thought of the moonlit roof
gardens in New York with something like a groan.
"Confound such a road!" and down went the book he was seriously trying
to lose himself in. His silent companion's face was lifted toward him:
"A railroad company that will run cars like this on such a schedule
ought to be abolished, the officers imprisoned, track torn up and
rolling stock burned! But then," he continued, "I am the fool. I ought
not to have come by this God-forsaken route."
"It is certainly not pleasant traveling to-day," his companion remarked,
sympathetically, showing even, white teeth under his brown mustache.
Montjoy had returned to his seat, but the smooth, even, musical tones of
the other echoed in his memory. He glanced back and presently came and
took a seat near by.
"Are you a resident of the south?" It was the stranger who spoke first.
This delicate courtesy was not lost on Montjoy.
"Yes. That is, I count myself a citizen of this state. But I sell
clothing for a New York house and am away from home a great deal."
"You delivered the young lady at the junction from quite a predicament."
"Didn't I, though! Well, she is evidently a fine little woman and
pretty. Lies for a pretty woman don't count. By the way--may I ask? What
line of business are you in?"