"It was quite late when he reached the little house which he had bought when he married, and he was tired, but he thought he would now probably be accused of two murders, so he must get away. He changed quickly into his most ragged clothes and started off towards another city. How he fared for the next few years I shall not attempt to relate, but under an assumed name, and with the power of his early home-training and education, he slowly forged to the front. He heard the stories of the haunted sentry box and was pleased that his disappearance had been so explained. "Although to all outward appearance he was poor, his new life brought him money and in the solitude of his little home he lived in comfort. He likewise deceived the world as to his feelings; to his friends he seemed a jovial, care-free fellow, but at home he sank back into bitterness and thoughts of his wrongs. His thoughts often turned to Torcas, but he just as frequently turned them aside through a desire to follow the last words of his murdered friend. "It was not until years later when the world had nearly banished all thought of the sentry box episode that Delvarez, now an old man, again saw his bitter enemy. Torcas, to his delight, did not recognize him and Delvarez immediately started to plan the death of his tormentor. He waited and waited, but the right time never seemed to come and finally the last words of the long-dead friend again began to take effect. Delvarez became calmer; he looked at the unrecognizing man with pure disdain and a great confidence arose in him that his friend's words would come true, that God----" The story was interrupted by the stranger behind the old story-teller. With a gurgling cry of wrath he had sprung to his feet, his right hand, tightly clenched about the handle of a gleaming knife, shot upward, while his left hand tore the shirt from the storekeeper's shoulders, thus uncovering the old man's chest, which had a dark red scar across it. The knife started downward with terrific force toward Cordo's bared body, but not into it, for he, with a quick, instinctive, upward throw of his arm, so changed the course of the blade that it buried itself to the hilt in its owner's breast. The priest had spoken the truth: God had taken vengeance.