beheld a phenomenon
that would have been of keen interest to the alienist, Forest. His young
charge had suddenly grown quite pale. Ben himself was neither aware of
this nor of the fact that his heart was hammering wildly in his breast
and his blood racing, like wild rivers, through his veins: he was only
thrilled and held by a sense of vast, impending developments. Every
nerve tingled and thrilled, and why he did not know.

Ezram began to unload; but now, his blue eyes shining, he began a covert
watch of his young companion. He saw the man from prison suddenly catch
his breath in inexpressible awe and his eye kindle with a light of
unknown source. A great question was shaping itself in Ben's mind, but
as yet he could not find the answer.

All at once Ben knew this place. Here was nothing strange or new: it was
all as he had known it would be in his inmost heart. All of it spoke to
him with familiar voice, seemingly to welcome him as a son is welcomed
after long absence. There was nothing here that had not been known and
beloved of old. Vivid memories, bright as lightning, swept through him.

He had always known this wholesome, sweet breath that swept into his
face. It was merely that of the outdoors, the open places that were his
own haunts. It was wholly fitting and true that the silence should lie
over the dark spruce that ringed about him, a silence that, in its
infinite harmony with some queer mood of silence in his own heart, was
more moving than any voice. All was as he had secretly known: the hushed
tree aisles, the gray radiance--soft as a hand upon the brow--of the
afterglow; the all-pervading health and peace of the wilderness. Except
for an old and trusted companion, he was alone with it all, and that too
was as it should be. Just he and the forest, his companion and the
gliding river.

He didn't try to understand, at first, the joy and the wonder that
thrilled him, nor could he speak aloud the thoughts that came to him.
Ravished and mystified, he walked softly to the dark, still edge of the
forest, penetrated it a distance, then sat down to wait.

For the first time in years, it seemed to him, he was at peace. A
strange sense of self-realization--lost to him in his years of
exile--climbed like fire through him; and with it the return of a lost
virility, a supreme vigor tingling each little nerve; a sense of
strength and power that was almost blinding.

He sat still. He saw the twilight descending, eve