land of more or less primitive simplicity, spoke of a sense of exile. He
was slight and middle-aged, and though his face was hidden, Ford received
the impression of having seen him already, but from another point of view.
His habit of using a magnifying-glass as, with some difficulty, he read a
newspaper in the light of a green-shaded lamp, seemed to Ford especially
familiar, though more pressing thoughts kept him from trying to remember
where and when he had seen some one do the same thing within the recent
past.

As he crouched by the window watching them, it came into his mind that
they were just the sort of people of whom he had least need to be afraid.
The sordid tragedy up in the mountains had probably interested them
little, and in any case they could not as yet have heard of his escape. If
he broke in on them and demanded food, they would give it to him as to
some common desperado, and be glad to let him go. If there was any one to
inspire terror, it was he, with his height, and youth, and wildness of
aspect. He was thinking out the most natural method of playing some small
comedy of violence, when suddenly the man threw down the paper with a
sigh. On the instant the lady spoke, as though she had been awaiting her
cue.

"I don't see why you should feel so about it," she said, making an effort
to control a cough. "You must have foreseen something of this sort when
you took up the law."

The answer reached Ford's ears only as a murmur, but he guessed its import
from the response.

"True," she returned, when he had spoken, "to foresee possibilities is one
thing, and to meet them is another; but the anticipation does something to