rs only as a murmur, but he guessed its import
from the response.

"True," she returned, when he had spoken, "to foresee possibilities is one
thing, and to meet them is another; but the anticipation does something to
nerve one for the necessity when it comes."

Again there was a murmur in which Ford could distinguish nothing, but
again her reply told him what it meant.

"The right and the wrong, as I understand it," she went on, "is something
with which you have nothing to do. Your part is to administer the law, not
to judge of how it works."

Once more Ford was unable to catch what was said in reply, but once more
the lady's speech enlightened him.

"That's the worst of it? Possibly; but it's also the best of it; for since
it relieves you of responsibility it's foolish for you to feel remorse."

What was the motive of these remarks? Ford found himself possessed of a
strange curiosity to know. He pressed as closely as he dared to the open
door, but for the moment nothing more was said. In the silence that
followed he began again to wonder how he could best make his demand for
food, when a sound from behind startled him. It was the sound which, among
all others, caused him the wildest alarm--that of a human footstep. His
next movement came from the same blind impulse that sends a hunted fox to
take refuge in a church--eager only for the instant's safety. He had
sprung to his feet, cleared the threshold, and leaped into the room,
before the reflection came to him that, if he was caught, he must at least
be caught game. Wheeling round toward the window-door through which he had
entered, he stood defiantly, awaiting his pursuers, and heedless of the
astonished eyes fixed upon him. It was not till some seconds had gone by,
and he realized that he was not followed, that he glanced about the room.
When he did so it was to ignore the woman, in order to concentrate all his
gaze on the little, iron-gray man who, still seated, stared at him, with
lips parted. In his own turn, Norrie Ford was dumb and wide-eyed in
amazement It was a long minute before either spoke.

"You?"

"You?"

The monosyllable came simultaneously from each. The little woman got to
her feet in alarm. There was inquiry as well as terror in her
face--inquiry to which her husband felt prompted to respond.

"This is the man," he said, in a voice of forced calmness,
"whom--whom--we've been talking about."

"Not the man--you--?"

"Yes," he nodded, "the