—but it was an instant that seemed to have spanned hours. Merton's eyes dropped.
"Varge!" he said, in a numbed voice.
"I know why you have come," said Varge quietly. "I expected that sooner or later you would come. You are afraid that some day I shall speak, that this will be too much for me; but that day—"
"No, no, Varge," Merton broke in quickly; "it isn't only that—I mean it isn't that at all. I wanted to see—I wanted to try and help—"
"But that day has passed, the day when I might have done what you fear now"—Varge spoke on, calmly, evenly, ignoring Merton's interruption. "That day was past with the first week here. You have nothing to fear—I shall never speak."
There was something in Varge's voice that Merton caught—a world of passion suppressed, like a mighty tide that purls and bubbles and seethes against the dam that holds it back and will not let it have its way; but there was also something else that filled him with wild elation—finality. But he mustn't show that. He was perfectly in control of himself now—he was safe—he knew that.
"I know it, Varge," he said huskily; "I know it. But there must be something I can do for you; I know Warden Rand; there must be something—"
"There is nothing," said Varge.
"But—"
"There is nothing," repeated Varge, "except for you to go. You have got all you came for. Do you think it is easy for me to stand here and look at you? One question—and then go—and answer that question
