an a few months in prison, but, Great God!
they gave me five years:--FIVE YEARS!"

His eyes widened at the awfulness of the thought and a look of agony
came into his face.

Eileen Pederstone gasped, and her lips parted.

"Five years," she whispered.

The man continued in bitterness.

"Yes! five years in hell--buried alive--away from humanity--from
light--air--freedom; from the sunshine, the hills, and the valleys;
from the sea, the wind, and, and, the higher things--literature,
music, art: truth--love--life:--buried from the combination of all
these, from God himself."

He shuddered. He almost wept in his frailness. "And now the very
sunshine hurts like an electric shock, the open spaces make me feel
lost and afraid; make me long for the confinement of a cell again."

He stopped suddenly and brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.

Eileen went over to him, laid a hand tenderly on his torn shirt-sleeve
and led him over to the chair again, for he still showed signs of his
physical exhaustion. He sat back and closed his eyes. When he opened
them again, Eileen spoke to him.

"And you ran away? Why, oh, why did you do that? Couldn't you see that
it would mean recapture; more imprisonment? And you were probably so
near the end of it."

Her whole soul was speaking compassionately.

"Near the end!" he said bitterly. "It was the end. I broke prison
because they had no right to keep me there any longer."

"But why? How could that possibly be?" she asked, closing her hands
nervously.

He gave expression to a sound of surprise at her innocence.

"You don't know them, miss. Anything, everything is possible in there.
They are masters, kings, gods. My conduct was good. After three years
and eight months I was due to get out in one month more. But I was
useful to them in there. I had education. I was the only accountant;
the greatest book-lover in jail. To keep me from thinking--for the
thinking is what drives men mad--I worked and slaved night and day.
They had no one to take my place. I was trusted. I did the work of
three men.

"One day I interfered in behalf of a fellow prisoner--a horse
thief--who was wrongly accused at this particular time of breaking
some trivial prison law. My good conduct sheet was cancelled. I was
told that I must serve my full time. That's what I got for trying, for
the second time, to help my fellow-man." He laughed. "That--and a
peculiar-sounding word which that strange little jailb