part; by that power of his, that
worked both good and evil, he compelled others, in accepting him, to
accept me on equal terms. There was a seat for me at the tables to which
he was invited; he discovered my poor talent for telling a story, and
somehow hypnotized others into considering me a wit! A wit!"

A silence fell between the two by the fire. Priscilla's throat was hard
and dry, her heart aching with pity.

"And then," Boswell continued drearily, "the crash came when he was only
twenty-five! I suppose he was savagely primitive. That was why externals
did not count so much with him. He could not brook opposition, especially
if injustice marked it; he was never able to estimate or eliminate. He
was like a child when an obstacle presented itself. If he could not get
around it, he attacked it with blind passion.

"It was part of his nature to espouse the cause of the weak and needy;
that was what held him, unconsciously, to me; it was what attracted him
to Joan Moss."

The name fell upon Priscilla's mind like a shock. The story was nearing
the crisis.

"She was outwardly beautiful; inwardly she was as deformed--as I! But in
neither case was he ever able to get the right slant. He loved us both in
his splendid, uncritical way. His love brought me to his feet in abject
devotion: it lured the woman to accomplish his destruction. Something,
some one, menaced her! He tried to sweep the evil aside, but----"

"Yes, yes, please go on!" Priscilla was breathless.

"Well, he couldn't sweep it aside; so he committed--murder."

"Oh! Mr. Boswell!"

The shuddering cry drew Boswell to the present. He remembered that his
listener knew Farwell only as a friend and gentle comrade. Her shock was
natural.

"You--you never guessed? Why do you think he, that brilliant fellow,
stayed hidden like a dead thing all these years?"--there was a quiver in
Boswell's voice--"hidden so deep that--not even I dared to go to him for
fear I would be followed and he again trapped! Oh! 'twas an ugly thing he
did; but he was driven to insanity--even his judges believed that--at the
last; but his victim was too big a man to go unavenged, so they hunted
Farwell down, caught him in a trap, and tried to finish him, but he got
away and they thought him--dead."

"Yes, yes," moaned Priscilla, "yes, I know. And the woman--did her heart
break?"

At this Boswell leaned forward, and, in the fire's glow, Priscilla saw
his face grow cruel and hard.

"He