"That--that horrid thing, Hesden! Where _did_ you get it? Do
you know it was that which made that terrible quarrel between your
grandfather and Uncle John, when he struck him that--that last
night, before John's body was found in the river. He was drowned
crossing the ford, you know. I don't know what it was all about;
but there was a terrible quarrel, and John wrote that on a sheet of
paper and held it before your grandfather's face and said something
to him--I don't know what. I was only a little girl then, but, ah
me! I remember it as if it was but yesterday. And then father struck
him with his cane. John fell as if he were dead. I was looking in
at the window, not thinking any harm, and saw it all. I thought
he had killed John, and ran away, determined not to tell. I never
breathed a lisp of it before, son, and nobody ever knew of that
quarrel, only your grandfather and me. I know it troubled him
greatly after John died. Oh, I can see that awful paper, as John
held it up to the light, as plain as this one in my hand now."
The slip of paper which she held contained only the following
apparently unintelligible scrawl:
"And you never saw it but once?" asked Hesden, thoughtfully.
"Never but once before to-night, dear."
"It was not Uncle John's usual signature, then?"
"No, indeed. Is it a signature? She glanced curiously at the paper
while Hesden pointed out the letters,
"That is what I take it to be, at least," he said.
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