touched his lips with his tongue. "What John Brown knows, M'sieu'."

There flashed across Charley's mind the fatal newspaper he had read on
the day he awakened to memory again in the but on Vadrome Mountain. He
remembered that he had put it in the fire. But Jo might have read it
before it was spread upon the bench-put it there of purpose for him to
read. Yet what reason could Jo have for being silent, for hiding his
secret?

There was silence for a space, in which Charley's eyes were like unmoving
sparks of steel. He did not see Jo's face--it was in a mist--he was
searching, searching, searching. All at once he felt the latch of the
hidden door under his finger; he saw a court-room, a judge and jury, and
hundreds of excited faces, himself standing in the midst. He saw twelve
men file slowly into the room and take their seats-all save one, who
stood still in his place and said: "Not guilty, your Honour!" He saw the
prisoner leave the box and step down a free man. He saw himself coming
out into the staring summer day. He watched the prisoner come to him and
touch his arm, and say: "Thank you, M'sieu'. You have saved my life."
He saw himself turn to this man:

He roused from his trance, he staggered to his feet, the shears rattled
to the floor. Lurching forward, he caught Jo Portugais by the throat,
and said, as he had said outside the court-room years ago:

"Get out of my sight. You're as guilty as hell!"

His grip tightened--tightened on Jo's throat. Jo did not move, though
his face grew black. Then, suddenly, the hands relaxed, a bluish
paleness swept over the face, and Charley fell sidewise to the floor