It is not the injured man who knows the full quality of hate. It is the one who injures. The injurer has no refuge from his own transgression; he has him whom he has injured constantly upon his mind--perhaps upon his soul. Another is the lord of his peace of mind. Thus it is peculiarly the wronged man's part to pardon, but when the wronged man would not pardon, but would avenge for another's sake? * * * * * Could Archie be given a mind more sensitive than a stone? Could his weak and spongy nature be hardened to a point of view? Could such an attitude be created in him that what otherwise would have been an assault would take on the stern justice of a punishment? Can any dull or egotistical mind be either punished or rewarded? Ultimately, can the God who created it do anything save quench it again? Wickedness may be vanquished at the last, but Ignorance----? And Conceit----? * * * * * But bah! Probably he was not even thinking of it. Perhaps he was even now seeking a way out. Well, I would help him. Ten words to him in private.... Faugh! So _that_ was it.... And the world allows it! Could he be proved to be merely insane at the time of his marriage the world would not allow it; a mental insufficiency beyond his control would be a bar; but this other, that he had deliberately sought, would be allowed. And Evie.... * * * * * That bloody apostrophe again!... * * * * * The criminal forgets too much in the moment of action. It is a sort of stage fright. Rehearsed perfectly, however.... Not that the thing is not admittedly difficult. A button, a fingerprint, a drop of blood, the resources of the laboratory, the microscope, the spectroscope--oh yes, it cannot be said that there is not a deal to watch. And a memory, a chance association years afterwards, an attack of debility rendering the eyes subject to deceits--any one of these things may at any moment throw him into the hands of the law as a fate more merciful than that which he has not been clever enough to forestall within himself. Yes, there is much to consider; but then, as all the world knows, masterpieces of crime or what not, are difficult of accomplishment. Ten words, then, on the morrow, and he would never dare.... * * * * * But bah! I was not even sure! He _could_ not be contemplating it, and I was vile to think it.... Still, prudence. I must make sure. Till then, nothing--not even these thoughts that ticked as if out of a tape-machine from my brain. To-morrow.... * * * * * Yet, ah! I was sure for all that! * * * * * This red and green, this red and green! * * * * *