of the screw.

"I'm going to be the eye, Maxwell. You're going to stay right where you
are until you pass off this sphere. Remembering what you once were, your
pastimes and love of luxury, this seems as hellish a place and existence
as even you deserve. When I saw you last night"--and here Ledyard
laughed--"it was all I could do to control myself. You play your part
well; but you always had a knack for theatricals. I know I'm a hard,
unforgiving man, but there is just one phase of human nature that I will
not stand for, and that is the refusal to take the medicine prescribed
for the disease. What incentive have people for better living and upright
thinking if every devil of a fellow who gets through his beastiality is
permitted to come up into the ranks and march shoulder to shoulder with
the best? If it's living you want and will lie for, steal for, and beg
for--have it; but have it here where the chances are all against your old
self. You'll probably never murder any one here or ruin the women; so
grovel on!"

As he listened Farwell seemed to shrink and age. In that hour he
recognized the fact that through all the years of self-imposed exile he
had held to the hope of release in the future: the going back to that
which he had once known. But looking at the hard, set face opposite he
knew that this hope was futile: he must live forever where he was, or, by
departing, bring about him the bloodhounds of justice and vengeance.
Ledyard had but to whistle, he knew, and again the pursuit would be keen,
and in the end--a long blank lay beyond that!

"You will--stay where you are!" Ledyard was saying.

"Surely. I intend to stay right here."

Then Farwell laughed and leaned back in his chair.

CHAPTER VII

Life settled into calm after the storm and subsequent happenings. Mary
McAdam, having done what she felt she must do, grimly set her house in
order and prepared for a new career. The bar, cleansed and altered,
became her private apartment. With the courage and endurance of a martyr
she determined to fight her battle out where there would be the least
encouragement or comfort.

"I'll drink to the dregs," she said to Mary Terhune, who gave up her
profession to share the solitude and fortunes of the White Fish; "but
while I'm drinking there's no crime in serving my kind. Come summer I'll
open my doors to tourists and keep the kind of house a woman--and a
God-bepraised widow one at that--should keep. Time was wh