"That's a queer lot," muttered the brigand to himself, "a very queer lot. I think I would sooner have the murder of a priest on my conscience than be weighted with the deeds that he'll have to answer for."
Pedro was no fool.
His observations were pretty well to the point.
Hunston felt the pangs of remorse.
Daily, hourly, in fact, he looked back and thought of what he was, and what he might have been had not his vicious propensities got the upper hand of him at the critical turn in his career.
And so the demon remorse played havoc with him already.
The mechanical arm was responsible for all. Its mysterious disorganisation had been the direct cause of his forced inactivity.
What gives ugly thoughts such power over one as bodily inactivity?
Nothing.
Robert Emmerson, your vengeance is as terrible as it is unceasing in its action.