d Albemarle. There had
been a weary half day of thanks and protestations, and he was conscious
of a dull relief when the last house was left behind, when the
cultivated fields fell away, and the Virginian forest, still so dominant
in the landscape, opened its dark arms and drew him in.

He rode slowly now, with drooping head. Young Isham, some yards behind,
almost went to sleep in his saddle, so dragging was the tread the mare
must follow. The dark aisle of the forest led presently through a gorge
where the woods were in effect primeval. Upon the one hand rose a bank,
thick with delicate moss and fern and shaded by birch and ash; on the
other the ravine fell precipitously to hidden water, and was choked by
towering pine and hemlock. The air was heavy, cool, and dank, the
sunshine entering sparsely. The place was, however, a haunt of birds,
and now a wood robin answered its mate.

Rand rode more and more slowly. The way was narrow, but here and there,
between it and the bank, appeared grey boulders sunk in all the fairy
growth of early spring. He drew rein, bared his head, and looked about
him, then dismounted and spoke to Young Isham, coming up behind. "I will
sit here a little and rest, Young Isham. Take Selim with you around the
turn and wait for me there. I'm tired, tired, tired!"

The negro obeyed, and the master was left alone Beside the road, beneath
the mossy bank, lay a great fallen rock Rand flung himself down upon
this, and as he did so, he remembered a river-bank, a sycamore, and a
rock upon which a boy of fourteen had lain and watched, coming over the
hill-top, distinct against the sunset sky, the god from the machine It
was such a stone as this, and it was seventeen years ago "Seventeen
years. And a thousand years in Thy sight--"

The past weeks had seen a change in the condition of his brain. He was
yet all but sleepless, and the physical strain had weakened his frame
and sharpened his features, but the sheer force of the man, asserting
itself, had put down the first wild inner tumult. Imagination was not
now whipped to giddy heights, it kept a full, dark level. When, at long
intervals, he slept, it was to dream, but not so dreadfully. He had no
more visions such as had haunted him in January. The thought of Cary was
with him, full and deep, a clean and bitter agony, but he saw him no
more save with the eye of the mind. He was as rational as a sleepless
man with a murder on his soul might well be, and h