listened to the tramp of his heavy feet as they went down the hall.

CHAPTER III

Again the world came back to Kent, the world that lay just beyond his
open window. But scarcely had O'Connor gone when it began to change,
and in spite of his determination to keep hold of his nerve Kent felt
creeping up with that change a thing that was oppressive and
smothering. Swiftly the distant billowings of the forests were changing
their tones and colors under the darkening approach of storm. The
laughter of the hills and ridges went out. The shimmer of spruce and
cedar and balsam turned to a somber black. The flashing gold and silver
of birch and poplar dissolved into a ghostly and unanimated gray that
was almost invisible. A deepening and somber gloom spread itself like a
veil over the river that only a short time before had reflected the
glory of the sun in the faces of dark-visaged men of the Company
brigade. And with the gloom came steadily nearer a low rumbling of
thunder.

For the first time since the mental excitement of his confession Kent
felt upon him an appalling loneliness. He still was not afraid of
death, but a part of his philosophy was gone. It was, after all, a
difficult thing to die alone. He felt that the pressure in his chest
was perceptible greater than it had been an hour or two before, and the
thought grew upon him that it would be a terrible thing for the
"explosion" to come when the sun was not shining. He wanted O'Connor
back again. He had the desire to call out for Cardigan. He would have
welcomed Father Layonne with a glad cry. Yet more than all else would
he have had at his side in these moments of distress a woman. For the
storm, as it massed heavier and nearer, filling the earth with its
desolation, bridged vast spaces for him, and he found himself suddenly
face to face with the might-have-beens of yesterday.

He saw, as he had never guessed before, the immeasurable gulf between
helplessness and the wild, brute freedom of man, and his soul cried
out--not for adventure, not for the savage strength of life--but for
the presence of a creature frailer than himself, yet in the gentle
touch of whose hand lay the might of all humanity.

He struggled with himself. He remembered that Dr. Cardigan had told him
there would be moments of deep depression, and he tried to fight
himself out of the grip of this that was on him. There was a bell at
hand, but he refused to use it, for he sensed his own c