He spoke of murder as the check the savage gives to social order, as the
costliest error, the last injustice, the monstrousness beyond the brute,
the debt without surety, the destruction by a fool of that which he
knows not how to create. He spoke for society, without animus and
without sentiment; in a level voice marshalling fact and example, and
moving unfalteringly toward the doom of the transgressor. Turning to the
case in hand, he wove strand by strand a rope for the guilty wretch in
question; then laid it for the nonce aside and spoke of murder more
deeply with a sombre force and a red glow of imagery. Then followed
three minutes of slow words which laid the finished and tested rope in
the sheriff's hand. Rand's voice ceased, and he lay staring at the
poplar leaves without the window.

Cary laid the pen softly down, sat still and upright in his chair for a
minute, then leaned back with a long breath. "The poor wretch!" he said.

"Poor enough," assented Rand abruptly. "But Nature does not, and Society
must not, think of that. As he brewed, so let him drink, and the measure
that he meted, let it be meted to him again. There is on earth no place
for him." He fell silent again, his eyes upon the dancing leaves.

"You will make your mark," said Cary slowly. "This is more than able
work. You have before you a great future."

Rand looked at him half eagerly, half wistfully. "Do you really think
that?"

"I cannot think otherwise," Cary answered. "I saw it plainly in the
courtroom the other day." He smiled. "I deplore your political
principles, Mr. Rand, but I rejoice that my conqueror is no lesser man.
I must to work against the next time we encounter."

"You have been long out of the county," said Rand. "I had the start of
you, that is all. You were trained to the law. Will you practise it, or
will Greenwood take all your time?"

"I shall practise. A man's life is larger than a few acres, a house, and
slaves. But first I must put Greenwood in order, and I must--" He did
not finish the sentence, but sat looking about the blue room. "The old
moon clock! I used to listen to it in the night and dream of twenty
thousand things, and never once of what I dream of now! What a strange
young savage is a boy!" He gathered the written sheets together. "You
will want to look these over? I shall be very glad to see that they
reach Mr. Mocket safely, or to serve you in any way. Just now I am very
idle, and I will be your secre