boy was paralyzed; then he said:

"I understand. We are Southerners; and by our custom and nature there is
but one atonement. I will search him out and kill him."

"Kill him? No! Death is release, emancipation; death is a favor. Do I
owe him favors? You must not hurt a hair of his head."

The boy was lost in thought awhile; then he said:

"You are all the world to me, and your desire is my law and my pleasure.
Tell me what to do and I will do it."

The mother's eyes beamed with satisfaction, and she said:

"You will go and find him. I have known his hiding-place for eleven
years; it cost me five years and more of inquiry, and much money, to
locate it. He is a quartz-miner in Colorado, and well-to-do. He lives
in Denver. His name is Jacob Fuller. There--it is the first time I have
spoken it since that unforgettable night. Think! That name could have
been yours if I had not saved you that shame and furnished you a cleaner
one. You will drive him from that place; you will hunt him down and
drive him again; and yet again, and again, and again, persistently,
relentlessly, poisoning his life, filling it with mysterious terrors,
loading it with weariness and misery, making him wish for death, and that
he had a suicide's courage; you will make of him another Wandering Jew;
he shall know no rest any more, no peace of mind, no placid sleep; you
shall shadow him, cling to him, persecute him, till you break his heart,
as he broke my father's and mine."