ere were only silence and that old, familiar
sound of the seconds trooping by, some with short and some with
long steps. He knew that soon they were to grow faint and weary
and pass no more that way. He ran to the foot of the stairs and
stood a moment hesitating. Then he walked slowly to the county
jail and looked up at the dark and silent building. For a little
time he leaned upon a fence, there in the still night, shaken with
sobs. Then he began walking up and down by the jail yard. He had
not slept an hour in weeks and was weary, but he could not bear to
come away and walked slower as the night wore on, hearing only the
tread of his own feet. He knew not where to go and was drifting up
and down, like a derelict in the sea. By and by people began to
pass him,--weary crowds,--and they were pointing at the patches on
his coat, and beneath them he could feel a kind of burning, but the
crowd was dumb. He tried to say, "I am not to blame," but his
heart smote him when it was half said. Then, suddenly, many people
were beside him, and far ahead on a steep hill, in dim, gray light,
he could see Darrel toiling upward. And sometimes the tinker
turned, beckoning him to follow. And Trove ran, but the way was
long between them. And the tinker called to him; "Who drains the
cup of another's bitterness shall find it sweet." Quickly he was
alone, groping for his path in black darkness and presently coming
down a stairway into the moonlit chamber of his inheritance. Then
the men of the dark and a feeling of faintness and great surprise
and a broad, blue field all about him and woods in the distance,
and above the growing light of dawn. His bones were aching with
illness and overwork, his feet sore. "I have been asleep," he
said, rubbing his eyes, "and all night I have been walking."

He was in the middle of a broad field. He went on slowly and soon
fell of weakness and lay for a time with his eyes closed. He could
hear the dull thunder of approaching hoofs; then he felt a silky
muzzle touching his cheek and the tickle of a horse's mane. He
looked up at the animal, feeling her face and neck. "You feel like
Phyllis, but you are not Phyllis--you are all white," said the
young man, as he patted her muzzle. He could hear other horses
coming, and quickly she, that was bending over him, reared with an
open mouth and drove them away. She returned again, her long mane
falling on his face. "Don't step on me," he entrea