the other had been very bad all summer.  Again, at the mill below the ford where I paused to ask for water, the miller, remarking on the travel home from Richmond, informed me that Mr. Cary had passed not long before.  I asked him which road Mr. Cary had taken, the main road or the river road.  He answered—­or the men behind him answered, I cannot now remember which—­’The main road.’”

“Ay, that’s what we said, and what we thought,” interjected the miller.

“It was thus my impression, gained first at the forge,” continued the witness, “that Mr. Cary was before me upon the main road.  Until then, knowing him to have left Richmond several days before me, I had supposed him at Greenwood.  I was not averse to a word with him on certain matters, and I rode rapidly, hoping to overtake him—­”

“Upon the main road, sir?”

“The main road, of course.  As I did not do so, I concluded that the approaching storm had caused him to hasten.  It was very threatening, and the few that my boy and I passed were hurrying to shelter.  At Red Fields I paused for a moment”—­He looked toward a well-known planter, standing near.  “Certainly, Mr. Rand,” said the latter promptly.  “We tried to make you stay out the storm, but you would be getting home.”

“From Red Fields my boy and I rode on into town.  I stopped at my partner’s house to tell his sister when to expect him home from Richmond, and at the Eagle I drew rein for a moment and exchanged greetings with two or three gentlemen upon the porch.  The rain was close at hand, and my boy and I pushed on to Roselands—­where, next morning, a neighbour brought the news of this murder.  I corroborate, sir, as I have been called to do, the statements of Mr. Forrest and Mr. Bates that it was the impression of all who greeted him as he passed that Mr. Cary was riding home by the usual road—­the main road.  I have nothing further to offer, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rand,” said the coroner, and the witness left the stand.

He was followed by the keeper of a small ordinary upon the main road, halfway between the ford and Red Fields.  “No, sir, Mr. Ludwell Cary didn’t travel by the main road.  I sat in my door with my glass and my pipe almost the whole day—­until after the storm broke, anyhow.  There wasn’t any custom—­folk seemed to know it was going to rain like Noah’s flood.  There was hardly anybody on the road after about ten.  Yes, I might have shut my eyes now and then, though I don’t doze over my pipe and glass half as much as some people say I do.  Anyhow, Mr. Ludwell Cary didn’t ride that way—­events prove that, don’t they, sir?  Yes, I remember well enough when Mr. Rand passed.  I wasn’t dozing then, for the negro boy spoke to me, said there was going to be a big storm.  It must have been after midday, Mr. Rand?”

“Yes, something after midday.”

The witness knew, for he always had his glass at noon.  He might have been dozing when the negro spoke to him, but he spoke plain enough.  “‘It’s going to be an awful storm,’ he said, and then I believe you said something, sir, though I don’t remember what it was, and you both rode on.  I wasn’t that sleepy that I couldn’t see straight.  That’s all that I know, Mr. Galt.”