where _he_ would be forgotten. He had seen such places; surely there
were many,--where bones were picked up of dead men who had faded from
the earth and had left no other record. If he could only keep his
senses now he might find such a spot, but he must be careful, for her
little feet went everywhere, and she must never see him again alive or
dead. And in the midst of his thoughts, and the darkness, and the
storm, he heard a voice at his side, "Lance, how long you have been!"
* * * * *
Left to himself, the old man again fell into a vacant contemplation of
the dead body before him, until a stronger blast swept down like an
avalanche upon the cabin, burst through the ill-fastened door and
broken chimney, and, dashing the ashes and living embers over the
floor, filled the room with blinding smoke and flame. Fairley rose with
a feeble cry, and then, as if acted upon by some dominant memory,
groped under the bed until he found his buckskin bag and his precious
crystal, and fled precipitately from the room. Lifted by this second
shock from his apathy, he returned to the fixed idea of his life,--the
discovery and creation of the diamond,--and forgot all else. The feeble
grasp that his shaken intellect kept of the events of the night
relaxed, the disguised Lance, the story of his son, the murder, slipped
into nothingness; there remained only the one idea, his nightly watch
by the diamond pit. The instinct of long habit was stronger than the
darkness or the onset of the storm, and he kept his tottering way over
stream and fallen timber until he reached the spot. A sudden tremor
seemed to shake the lambent flame that had lured him on. He thought he
heard the sound of voices; there were signs of recent
disturbance,--footprints in the sawdust! With a cry of rage and
suspicion, Fairley slipped into the pit and sprang toward the nearest
opening. To his frenzied fancy it had been tampered with, his secret
discovered, the fruit of his long labors stolen from him that very
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