Frank L. Packard

“ Why was the doctor bending over him so anxiously, so soberly now? If it were over Wenger there might be reason—his practised eye had told him that it was already the twilight of life for the man whose form lay within arm's reach of him upon the next bed.
"You are a brave man," said Doctor Kreelmar finally in low, grave tones, as though forcing himself to speak; "and big enough to want to know the truth. An hour ago I thought there was every chance in the world for you, and now"—he hesitated.
"And now?" Varge prompted steadily, his eyes fixed speculatively on the physician's face. ”

“ Without a trace of colour in his face, white to the lips, his eyes blazing, Varge had closed the single step between them.
"You have dared to come here," he said hoarsely. "You have dared to touch that pure life with yours, black to the soul with the guilt of hell! Answer me! How far has this thing gone?" His hand closed suddenly down with a crushing, vise-like grip on Merton's shoulder.
"Keep away," Merton grovelled. "Keep away—keep your hands off me with that ghastly strength of yours."
"Answer me!"—Varge's voice was ominously, deadly low. "How far has this thing gone?" ”

“ From the brow of the hill, where, in another world it seemed now, in the far past, in the long ago, Varge had first seen the penitentiary at sunrise, the prison stood outlined in the calm light, the walls traced in black, uncouth shapes, the great dome of the central building rising spectre-like against the sky. Around it, the fields, the little village, the sweep of country, white-cloaked in the moon-rays near at hand, gradually merged, blurred and indistinct with distance, into shadow, into night.
What men say to each other when their hearts are full, Doctor Kreelmar and Varge had said. ”

“ To him, the end of hope, the portal to that place where life was but a hideous, mocking word; to her, it was but an incident, part of her environment, but another guilt-stained creature facing his just punishment. And yet—and yet—a woman's heart, dead to sympathy, calloused—
The guard led him from the room and out into the hallway. The massive, steel-barred door swung back. A murmur of voices followed him from the warden's office—and then, in a sudden exclamation, a world of pity, of infinite mercy in the low, shocked tones, the girl's voice reached him. ”

“ His eyes were on that darker spot that, once by the door, now was moving across the room toward him. And then a hand, thrust out, groping, touched his shoulder—it was wet with cold moisture and shook as with the ague.
"Varge, you must help me," Merton burst out hysterically. "I am in danger, Varge—in awful danger, do you hear? You can save me. You are the only man, the only man, who can. For God's sake say you will! It can't mean anything to you—-there's nothing you can lose—you don't even know who you are—you haven't even so much as a name, except what we've always called you—Varge. ”

“ Lee reached out his hand to her and took her arm.
"Come, Mrs. Merton," he pleaded gently. "Come; let me take you from here."
"Wait!"—her face was colourless; her voice scarce above a whisper. "You have done this! It is true; oh, God, it is true! I did not know that such a being as you could live—that God created such monsters. Go! Go, from this house! How dared you come here—how dared they bring you here!" Her voice had risen—and distraught, almost insane with grief and outraged love, the bitter words, so foreign to the gentle, kindly lips, fell with cruel, blighting force on Varge. ”

“ Softly Doctor MacCausland opened the door and motioned Varge forward.
A man with his back turned—Harold Merton—stood at the window; a nurse, in uniform and cap, rose from a chair at the far side of the bed. Varge looked at neither—it was only the smoothly parted silver hair, the sweet, gentle face it crowned he saw—and it was the past upon him, the past of long ago, with all the old dear, tender intimacy of other years—when she had been his mother. There was eagerness in his step, in his arms—that were involuntarily stretched out toward her. ”

“ On this space Varge's eyes had fastened instantly. A form with arms outflung lay upon the great bear-skin rug before the hearth, silent, motionless; the face was turned toward the fire, and the light, as though in grim defiance of death, tinging the cheek with its own rich, deep colour, gave to the features the appearance of the rosy hue of health. It was as if the man had thrown himself down to rest and relaxation, to watch the firelight's play—and had fallen asleep. Poor, pitiful illusion that could last no longer than to enhance the stern awfulness of reality! ”

“ I did not think when I sailed on the schooner from Gloucester for the Grand Banks that my voyage would end here—with you. I thought then that I had seen you for the last time—it, a thing like that, could never happen again."
"Then you will speak"—she was very close to him, her breath was on his cheek, her lips were trembling, her eyes, tear-dimmed, were raised to his.
Speak! Yes! Why not—and grasp at his chance for happiness! To stand a free man, his future before him, to work for her, to win her in the days to come! ”

“ What does it mean, gentlemen of the jury? You know the prisoner. Most of you have known him all your lives. You know him for his clean, upright life. You know him for a man who, through love and gratitude to his benefactors, has put self aside and stayed with them because they needed him—a sacrifice the greater because, ambitious, a man whose intellect would carry him to a high place in any sphere, he has curbed ambition, crushed it back while those two he loved and would not leave still lived. But during these years Varge has studied and neglected no single opportunity for self-improvement. ”

“ Either the wrecked foremast had done its work before he had been able to get rid of it, or the strain and fearful buffeting had opened the schooner's seams—the Mary K. Jones was filling slowly, but none the less certainly. It was but a matter of hours at best, perhaps but a matter of minutes before she must go down.
Well, better that than a life dragged out in drear hopelessness behind steel bars and clanging doors and grey, mocking walls—far better to die like this than face that living death again, if only—if only she knew! ”

“ I have no name, you say, to make a curse of—I have nothing to lose, you say, because I do not know who I am. I? I am Varge. You think that I have no soul, no conscience, that the foulest crime in God's sight means nothing to me—because I am a nobody!"
A faint, purling sound came from Merton. He had ceased to struggle. No hurt nor blow had Varge given him; but the cold fury of the man who held him, the fearful power of the grip upon him, that all his own strength would not avail to shake by one iota, seemed to have sunk into his soul and left him swaying sick with terror. ”

“ Janet crossed the room impulsively to her father's side.
"Oh, dad," she burst out, her voice quivering, "I wish with all my heart he had got away. He shouldn't be here anyway—I'm sure of that. And it's true, as Doctor Kreelmar says, that he saved my life. What will you do? Will you have to—to punish him as other men have been punished when they were brought back? Dad, dear"—pleadingly, as the warden with a set face turned suddenly away—"I know I am making it harder for you, and that you have your duty to do, but—but isn't there—can't what he has done be made to count in his favour?" ”

“ The splendid figure in all its wondrous strength, its vigour of fine, young manhood, in all its simple, unaffected heroism, the same heroism that intuitively she knew had led him to accept the hideous prison stripes, the living death, rose before her, sharp-outlined in every detail as she had seen him through the lifting layers of smoke, making his perilous way along the peak of the burning house, carrying another to life and safety—as afterward, at far greater risk to himself, he had won his way to her, and carried her to life and safety. ”

“ In the hours of night when wakeful or asleep, in the day at whatever task he might be engaged upon the craving of his soul never left him—to hear the sound of her voice again, to see her face, her smile. It was worth any price, any risk—what else could matter? It was his life—the one thing his soul asked for. A hopeless thing—illogical? Perhaps—but it was unconquerable. Logic, philosophy and reason—what part had they in this? What was logic, what philosophy, what reason to the yearning prompted by a love that made all else but naught! ”

“ Almost at the top of the cliff the path swerved sharply to the left. Varge made the turn—and stopped dead in his tracks. Two men leaped from behind the rocks that had hidden them—and blocked the path behind him. Warden Rand rose from a stone on which he had been seated and came forward; four other men, men of the coast-guard, their captain amongst them, appeared as if by magic from behind other rocks and clustered about him. Seven to one! A grim smile in which was blended a strange apathy settled on Varge's lips as he faced the warden. ”

“ Varge's mind had already weighed the alternatives—and, discarding one, agreed with Harold Merton. He had known Robson all his life—Robson was of that type, illiterate, sensational, full of cheap bluster, to whom notoriety would be as the breath of life—he would lose none of the importance attaching to the discovery of a crime, none of the opportunity of being the central figure in the affair by sharing his discovery with any one, who, later on, participating in the furor and excitement, would detract from his own prominence—Robson would tell his tale to the authorities and to no one else. ”

“ A moment more Varge stood without movement, then he laid down the spade, crossed quickly to the barn, and withdrew out of sight behind one of the stalls. He had barely a minute to wait. The carriage wheels rattled on the gravel drive coming toward him past the side of the house, a shadow fell across the barn doors—and as the stamp of hoofs rang loudly on the wooden flooring, he stepped suddenly from the stall to the horse's head. With a little neigh and whinny that was almost human in its recognition and greeting, the animal rubbed its nose against his shoulder. ”

“ Not easily—for then in all its meaning, in all its depth, as it had not come to him before, had come the knowledge of the fulness, the completeness of his own love. After that, as a man outwardly himself but mentally almost oblivious and indifferent to events and happenings around him, they had caught him, the warden had caught him, and put him in the lock-up of the little town. Darkness had come, the numbed apathy had passed, his soul had seemed as a seething vortex and like a wild man he had torn his way to freedom. ”

“ Upon Varge was still a strange sense of unreality; still but the hesitant understanding when the mind is numbed for a time in the face of some great crisis and there lingers the fancy that one is but living in a world of dreams; vivid dreams, it is true, but dreams from which none the less surely there must come the awakening—to reality.
Harold Merton had told all—Varge raised his hand and passed it slowly across his eyes. ”

“ An instant, barely that, and heaving, floundering, red-faced, carbine in hand, Kingman burst into sight not a yard away. There was a cry from Kingman, the carbine was half-lifted—and, in his prison clothes like some striped, hunted tiger at bay, Varge leaped. In a flash his hand had closed on the carbine and wrenched it from the other's grasp.
"Kingman," he said, in a low, deadly voice, "you know my strength. I have no wish to hurt you—but I am going to get away. Take your chance—go back." ”

“ With a curious movement, as one suddenly releases his hold upon an object he has unwittingly, unconsciously grasped, which to the sense of touch is utterly repugnant, Varge drew away his hand.
"Answer my question," he said. "If you have been seen at all, there cannot be much time to spare."
"No, no; there is not much—there's not a moment to lose"—this phase, not new, but for a while dormant through other terrors and now awakened again, brought the words in pitiful eagerness from Merton's lips. "I'll tell you everything—everything. Listen. ”

“ Then Merton, as though awakening from a dream, brushed his hand across his eyes.
"Yes; I am mad," he said penitently. "I did not know what I was saying. But I cannot bear to lose you. I love you and I cannot give you up. I will not give you up. You do not love me now, but some day I can win your love. And I am right about this, Janet— Miss Rand, if you would only go away, even for a little while, you would see."
Janet's eyes were on the ground.
"It is quite useless to say anything more," she said monotonously. "I shall never love you." ”

“ The foremast, like a broken limb sagging from a tree, stretched outboard over the schooner's side, but the end, held by a tangle of sail and rigging, pounding and thrashing, was making havoc of rail and deck.
In the utter darkness Varge worked on by the sense of touch, cutting, hewing, hacking—at times thrown upon his face to gasp and choke as a swirl of water passed over him; at times working with more speed and success as the lightning glare lit up the heavens, the wild, turbulent waste of sea and his immediate surroundings. ”

“ It disconcerted her the more, and, as the colour came and went from her cheeks, she stood there for a long time fighting for control of herself. Then, at last, the fair, gold-crowned head lifted slowly, and slowly the great, deep blue eyes were raised—only to find Varge's fixed upon her. But an instant their glances held; then, naturally, quietly, his was lowered to his work again—but in that instant it seemed to her as though, conscious of her thoughts, he had impelled her look, and, even at that distance, had read with those grave, serious eyes of his what was passing in her mind. ”

“ IN neither a day nor yet in a week did Varge find himself. Battling, battling, battling incessantly—at night in his cell, by day in the carpenter shop where he had been put to work—the fight went on within him. And it was an uneven combat; for, fine-grained, keenly sensitive, delicately strung, even his mental faculties revolted at every detail of the life about him, and joined issue with the full-veined, red blood within him that would not know restraint.
Men talked around him, men moved around him—and they were all alike. ”