CHAPTER II.
THE PRISONER OF WINDSOR—THE TRAGEDY OF A NIGHT.
"Stanley, I have good news for you."
"All news is alike to me, sir."
Warden Chase of the Vermont state prison regards the young man before him with a kindly eye.
"Your sentence of three years has been shortened by a year, as the governor has granted you an unconditional pardon," he announces.
"His excellency is kind," replied the young man in a voice that expresses no gratitude and may contain a faint shade of irony.
He is a striking-looking young fellow, even in his prison garb, his dark hair cropped close and his eyes cast down in the passive manner enjoined by the prison regulations. His height is about five feet ten inches and his figure is rather slender and graceful. His face is singularly handsome. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, and the two long years of prison life have dimmed but little of the fire that flashes from their depths. A square jaw bespeaks a strong will. The rather hard lines about the firm mouth were not there two years before. He has suffered mentally since then. There are too many gray hairs for a man of 28.
Warden Chase touches a bell. "Get Stanley's things," he orders the attendant, who responds.
"Sit down, Stanley." The young man obeys and the warden wheels about to his desk.
"I am authorized to purchase you a railroad ticket to any station you may designate—within reason, of course," amends Mr. Chase. "Which shall it be?" A bitter smile flits across Stanley's face and he remains silent.
"North, east, south or west?" questions Mr. Chase, poising his pen in air.
