"I may not get back to Orange for some time," he thought. "And I don't want to forget how the old place looks."
He passed along block after block, until the business portion of the city was left behind, and the Orange mountains, bathed in the light of the silvery moon, lay before him. Then he came to a pause and surveyed the scene.
He stood there for several minutes, and then gave a sudden start. Not far down a little side street stood a lonely cottage, and he remembered it was the one in which Andy Gresson had lived, ere he had taken his hasty flight.
"I wonder if he ever came back to see his wife," thought Franklin. "How awful it must be, to be compelled to remain away for fear of arrest! Perhaps he has often wished that he had never taken those two rings."
There was a dim light burning in the kitchen of the cottage, and, led on by sheer curiosity, the young electrician moved towards the dilapidated building.
He had hardly taken a dozen steps, when he saw a figure dart out from behind a tree on the other side of the road. Franklin stopped short, wondering who it was.
The figure approached the cottage, and then the young electrician heard a sharp rap on the door of the front room, where it was dark. A moment later the door opened.
