Day in and day out, Varge was an obsession to him—the fear that Varge would weaken preyed upon him. Too small himself to understand the bigness of the other, to realise that such an act could be performed other than by sudden impulse, which, afterwards, dying gradually away, would, in the face of its own consequences, tempt and lead Varge to undo it all, he sought for means to bolster up the other's constancy. One way alone seemed open to him. To go to Varge, to visit him in the penitentiary, to show him that he was not deserted, to exhibit gratitude, to procure for him such favours as the prison regulations would permit—and, above all else, to speak of his mother, to keep her before Varge. He must do that.
But to visit the penitentiary, to visit his father's murderer—what would people say? It was a strange thing to do. Would it look suspicious? What excuse could he give for going there? There could be but one reason that would seem natural in the eyes of others—that it was a simple, kindly act prompted by generosity. But in this, blinded by his impure motives, he feared to put reliance.
The shuttle again. From one side to the other he swerved, trying to make up his mind, daring to do neither one thing nor the other. He chose in the end what seemed to him the lesser of the evils—his safety lay with Varge. But his choosing was not soon in coming, and it was a month after Varge's incarceration before he drove over one morning from Berley Falls to the penitentiary and was admitted to the warden's office.
Nerved to a preliminary trying ordeal, he found him-
