howls; it gets into my imagination. I'd
rather talk. The thing I have to tell you--is what I shall tell Farwell
if I ever see him again. It's rather a bungling thing I've done. I'll
receive my reward, doubtlessly, but I would do the same, were I placed in
the same position, over and over again.

"Farwell Maxwell, known to you as Anton Farwell, has been part, the
biggest part, of my life since we were young boys. We were about as
pitiful a contrast as can be imagined, and for that reason met each
other's needs more completely. We had only one thing in common--money. He
was a straight, handsome fellow, while I was--what you see before you--a
crooked, distorted creature, but one in whose heart and soul dwelt all
the cravings and aspirations of youth and intelligence. I was alone in
the world. My father died before my birth, and I cost my mother--her
life. Farwell had, until he was twenty, an adoring though foolish mother,
who laid undue emphasis upon his rights and privileges. She, and an older
brother, died when he was twenty-one--died before the trouble came, but
not before they had done all they could to train him for it. At
twenty-one he was a selfish, hot-headed fellow with a fortune at his
command, a confused sense of right and wrong, an ungoverned, artistic
nature swayed by impulse, and, yes, honest affection and generous
flashes. And I? Well, I found I could buy with my money what otherwise I
must have gone without, but the shadow never counted for the substance
with me. The fawning favour, which held its sneer in check, filled me
with disgust, and I would have been a bitter, lonely fellow but--for
Farwell.

"I never could quite understand him; I do not to-day, but he, from the
beginning, did not seem to recognize or admit my limitations. Through
preparatory school and college we went side by side. He called me by the
frank and brutal names that boys and men only use to equals. I wonder if
you can understand when I say that to hear him address me as an infernal
coward, when I shrank from certain things, was about the highest
compliment I knew?"

"Yes," murmured Priscilla, "I can understand that." She could not see
Boswell; the low, impassioned words came from out the shadows like
thoughts. "Yes, I can quite understand how you felt."

"I am glad that you can, for then you will see--why I have done--what I
could for Farwell--when he needed me. Back in those old days he was not
content to shame me into playing my