Ledyard's fascinated gaze, but drew no word
from him.

Farwell loosened the neck of his shirt--he was stifling, yet feeling
relief as the past dreams of his lonely life formed themselves into
words.

"At night I was haunted by visions," the low, vibrant voice rushed on.
"It was worse at night when semi-unconsciousness made me helpless. I'd
wake up yelling, not with fright, but pain, actual pain--the hot, knifing
pain of an electric current trying to find my heart and brain.

"Then they said I was mad. Well, so I was; and the fight was on! At first
there was a gleam--the chair faded from sight. If I lived--there was
hope; but I was mistaken. You know the rest. The legal struggle, the
escapes and captures. One friend and much money did what they could; it
wasn't much.

"You've seen a cat play with a mouse? The mouse always runs, doesn't it?
Well, so did I, though I didn't know where in God's world I was running,
nor to what."

For some minutes Farwell had been speaking like a man distraught by
fever. He had forgotten the listener across the table; he was remembering
_aloud_ at last, with no fear of consequences. He did not look at
Ledyard, and when he spoke again it was in a calmer tone.

"It was on the last run--that I was supposed to have drowned. Well, I did
die; at least something in me died. I lost breath, consciousness, and
when I came to I was a poor, broken thing not worth turning the hounds
on. I'm done for as far as the past's concerned. I'm a different man--not
a reformed one! God knows I never played that role. I'm another man. I
took what I could to keep me from insanity. I had to do something to
occupy my time. That's why I've taught these poor little devils; it
wasn't for them, it was for me; and when they grew to like me and trust
me--I was grateful. Grateful for even that!"

Ledyard was holding the white, drawn face by his merciless eyes. So he
looked when a particularly interesting subject lay under his knife and he
was all surgeon--no man.

"But you're not equal to going back to the States without being hauled
there--and taking your medicine?" he asked calmly.

"No. I suppose in the final analysis all that justice demands is that I
should be put out of the way--out of the way of harming others? Well,
that's accomplished. I don't suppose your infernal ideas of justice claim
that a man should be hounded beyond death, and every chance for right
living be barred from him? If a poor devil ever ca