arms pacing ceaselessly to and fro, that bounded his range of vision.
The horror, the agony, the hopelessness of the three days since he had been back, the torture of his thoughts through the black of sleepless nights, had been a hell of madness sapping at his reason, his strength, his resolution, like unto which the prison days before had been as a deep, still peace. Mind and body, soul and spirit had been in torment—and the face of Mrs. Merton, that in the days gone by had risen so vividly before him, bringing comfort and a new courage, now had come not at all, or, if it came, came only as some blurred, indefinite, misty thing, almost meaningless—whose power was gone. If he could see her again—fix that face, every lineament, in his mind anew—restore the power to this talisman!
His glance shifted to a little group just below the window. A visitor, being shown through the prison, lagged a few steps behind the guard who was conducting him and furtively passed a piece of tobacco to a convict. The convict looked up, met Varge's eyes and grinned.
Why did Mrs. Merton want to see him? What was her reason for the strange request? Why—but what, after all, did it matter? If he could see her again—restore the efficacy of that sweet old face that he needed now as he had never needed it before! He swung slowly from the window and faced the doctor.
"I will go," he said quietly.
"Hum!" said the doctor. His eyebrows lifted a little, and he stared at Varge curiously. "I had an idea you'd refuse." Then bluntly: "What's your reason for wanting to go?"
