en the best
would not come to me, the bar being against their liking. Well, the best
may come now and find peace."

"'Tis a changed woman you are, Mrs. McAdam."

"No, just a stricken one, Mary. When I sit by those empty graves back of
the pasture lot I seem to know that I must do the work of my boys as well
as my own--and the time's short! I'm over sixty."

"And looking forty, Mrs. McAdam." The manners of her trade clung to Mrs.
Terhune.

"The shell doesn't count, Mary, if the heart of you is old and worn."

The people from the Far Hill Place returned early to town that year, and
Anton Farwell breathed easier and sunk back into his old life when he
knew they were gone.

In resurrecting the man Farwell once was, Ledyard had all but slain the
man he had, perforce, become.

Whether former characteristics were dead or not, who could tell?
But certainly with temptation removed, with the routine of a bleak,
uninteresting existence his only choice, Farwell was a harmless creature.
Gradually he had found solace in the commonplaces that surrounded
him. Like a person relieved of mortal agony he was grateful for
semi-invalidism. Previous to Ledyard's recognition of him he had sunk to
a monotonous indifference, waiting, he realized now, for the time when he
might safely shake off his disguise and slip away to what was once his
own. Now, with his exit from Kenmore barred, he found that he no longer
could return to his stupor; he was alert, keen, and restless. In the
past he had often forced himself to exercise in order that he might be
ready to journey on when the time of release came. His walks to the
distant town, his long hours on the water, had all been preparations
for the final leave-taking from his living tomb.

But now that he had no need of lashing himself into action, he found
himself always on the move. He worked early and late at trifling tasks
that occupied his hands while sharpening his wits. With shades drawn at
night, he drew, with pencil and paper, plans of escape. He must choose
a calm spell after a storm; he would take his launch, with a rowboat
behind, to the Fox Portage. He'd set his launch free and shoulder his
boat. Once he reached the Little Bay, he'd take his chances for an
outgoing steamer. He'd have plenty of money and a glib story of a bad
connection. It would go. He must defeat Ledyard.

Then he would tear the sheets of paper in bits, toss them on the coals,
and laugh bitterly as he realized t