ings be, then Bignold would die out there in the Gulch, starved,
anguished, and alone. If he went, he could save his own life by saving
Bignold, if Bignold was alive; or he could go--and not save Bignold's
life or his own! What would he do?

The Governor watched him with a face controlled to quietness, but with
an anxiety which made him pale in spite of himself.

"What will you do, Grassette?" he said at last in a low voice, and with
a step forwards to him. "Will you not help to clear your conscience by
doing this thing? You don't want to try and spite the world by not
doing it. You can make a lot of your life yet, if you are set free. Give
yourself, and give the world a chance. You haven't used it right. Try
again."

Grassette imagined that the Governor did not remember who Bignold was,
and that this was an appeal against his despair, and against revenging
himself on the community which had applauded his sentence. If he went
to the Gulch, no one would know or could suspect the true situation,
everyone would be unprepared for that moment when Bignold and he would
face each other--and all that would happen then.

Where was Marcile? Only Bignold knew. Alive or dead? Only Bignold knew.

"Bien, I will do it, m'sieu'," he said to the Governor. "I am to go
alone--eh?"

The Sheriff shook his head. "No, two warders will go with you--and
myself."

A strange look passed over Grassette's face. He seemed to hesitate for a
moment, then he said again: "Bon, I will go."

"Then there is, of course, the doctor," said the Sheriff.

"Bon," said Grassette. "What time is it?" "Twelve o'clock," answered the
Sheriff, and made a motion to the warder to open the door of the cell.

"By sundown!" Grassette said, and he turned with a determined gesture to
leave the cell.

At the gate of the prison, a fresh, sweet air caught his face.
Involuntarily he drew in a great draught of it, and his eyes seemed
to gaze out, almost wonderingly, over the grass and the trees to
the boundless horizon. Then he became aware of the shouts of the
crowd--shouts of welcome. This same crowd had greeted him with shouts of
execration when he had left the Court House after his sentence. He
stood still for a moment and looked at them, as it were only half
comprehending that they were cheering him now, and that voices were
saying, "Bravo, Grassette! Save him, and we'll save you."

Cheer upon cheer, but he took no notice. He walked like one in a dream,
a long,