His sole thoughts have been engrossed by the fearful sufferings to which he is subject.
That dreadful arm—the legacy of vengeance of the murdered Emmerson. Where the evil was it baffled all his skill to discover.
Slowly yet surely this horrible piece of mechanism was eating away its wearer's life.
"It seems almost as though some subtle poison were slowly injected into my body through this arm," thought Hunston, "and yet I can not work without it."
Never was vengeance more terrible than that of the dead Robert Emmerson.
The wonder was that Hunston lived through it.
His constitution must have been of iron.
The arm was removed, but only with infinite trouble and suffering; and then, after some considerable time, Hunston began to experience a faint sense of relief.
The sufferings slowly diminished.
This convinced Hunston that he had been correct in supposing that the poison was concealed in the mechanical arm.