The tone was a command, and the speaker leaned back in his chair with
the air of an owner as he relighted his pipe.

But Fog did not shrink. 'Will you have the whole story?' he asked
humbly.

'As well now as ever, I suppose, but be as brief as possible,' said
the young man in a lordly manner. Had he not just conferred an
enormous favor, an alliance which might be called the gift of a
prince, on this dull old backwoodsman?

'Forty years ago or thereabouts,' began Fog in a low voice, 'a crime
was committed in New York City. I shall not tell you what it was, there
is no need; enough that the whole East was stirred, and a heavy reward
was offered for the man who did the deed. I am that man.'

Waring pushed back his chair, a horror came over him, his hand sought
for his pistol; but the voice went on unmoved. 'Shall I excuse the
deed to you, boy? No, I will not. It was done and I did it, that is
enough, the damning fact that confronts and silences all talk of
motive or cause. This much only will I say; to the passion of the act
deliberate intention was not added, and there was no gain for the
doer; only loss, the black eternal loss of everything in heaven above,
on the earth beneath, or in the waters that are under the earth, for
hell itself seemed to spew me out. At least so I thought as I fled
away, the mark of Cain upon my brow; the horror was so strong upon me
that I could not kill myself, I feared to join the dead. I went to and
fro on the earth, and walked up and down in it; I fled to the
uttermost parts of the sea, and yet came back again, moved by a