Glad's small and sharp countenance became curious.
"'Speak, Lord, thy servant 'eareth,'" she quoted tentatively.
"No," answered Dart; "it was not like that. I had never thought of such things. I believed nothing. I was going out to buy a pistol and when I returned intended to blow my brains out."
"Why?" asked Glad, with passionately intent eyes; "why?"
"Because I was worn out and done for, and all the world seemed worn out and done for. And among other things I believed I was beginning slowly to go mad."
From the thief there burst forth a low groan and he turned his face to the wall.
"I've been there," he said; "I'm near there now."
Dart took up speech again.
"There was no answer—none. As I stood waiting—God knows for what—the dead stillness of the room was like the dead stillness of the grave. And I went out saying to my soul, 'This is what happens to the fool who cries aloud in his pain.'"
"I've cried aloud," said the thief, "and sometimes it seemed as if an answer was coming—but I always knew it never would!" in a tortured voice.