tness, added to his irresolution.

He fell into deep sleep at last, still in debate with himself.

He woke quietly next morning, like a child, and as his eyes took in the
big room in which he had slept for a year, surrounded by such luxury as
he had never dreamed of having (even for a day), life seemed very easy
of continuance, and Steele a mistaken egotist, a foul destroyer of men's
peace; but as he rose to dress and saw himself in the glass, the figure
he presented decided his hand. Was this Mart Haney--this unshaven,
haggard, and wrinkled old man?

Leaning close to the mirror, he studied his face as if it were a mask.
Deep creases ran down on either side of the nose, giving to his gaze the
morose expression of an aged, slavering mastiff. His nerveless cheeks
depended. His neck was stringy. Puffy sacs lay under the eyes, and the
ashen pallor of his skin told how the heart was laboring to maintain
life's red current in its round.

As he looked his decision was taken. "Mart, the game has run mostly in
your favor for twenty-five years--but 'tis agin ye now. The quiet old
gentleman with the bony grin holds the winning fist. Lay down your cards
and quit the board this day, like a man. Why drag on like this for a
year or two more, a burden to yourself and a curse to her."

And yet, though crippled and gray, death was somehow more dreadful to
him at this moment than when in his remorseless and powerful young
manhood he had looked again and again into the murderous eyes of those
who were eager to shed his blood. He shivered at the thought of the dark
river, as those whose limbs having grown pale and thin dread the cold
wind of the night.

"I wonder is the mother over there waitin' fer me?" he half whispered.
"If ye are, your soul will be floating far above me in the light, while
I--burdened by me sins--must wallow below in purgatory. But I go, and
the divil take his toll."

There was not much preparation to be made. His will was written, fully
attested, and filed in a safe place. His small personal belongings he
was willing to leave in Bertha's hands. It was hardest of all to vanish
without a word of good-bye to any soul, but this was essential to his
plan. "No one must suspect design in me departure," he muttered. "I must
drop out--_by accident_. I must cut loose during the day, too--no night
trips for me--in a way that will look natural. If Steele knows his
business, Mart Haney will go out of the game on the summit,