One afternoon Ellsworth entered his office to find Dave waiting for him. The young man began in a shaky, husky voice:
"I can't stand it, Judge. I'm going to pieces, fast."
"You do look bad."
"Yes. I don't sleep. I'm so irritable I can't get along up at the courthouse. I'm licked. The worst of it is, I don't know whether it's all imagination, or whether you really stirred up that devilish sleeping thing in me. Anyhow, something has got me. All I can do is study and analyze and watch and imagine—I sit all night thinking—thinking, until everything gets queer and distorted. If I were sane before, you've about unbalanced me with your damnable suggestions."
"A few nights of sleep will make you feel better," Ellsworth said, gravely.
"I tried drugs, but they made me worse. God! Then my fancies WERE sick.
No, I'm going to get out."
"Where? How?"
"I'm going north to look up the members of my family and learn who I really am. I resigned from the Ranger force to-day. That's no place for a fellow with a—homicidal mania."
"Dave! You're taking this thing too absolutely and too hard," Ellsworth declared.
But Dave went on, unheeding. "Another reason why I want to get away now is that Alaire will expect me to come to her when she sends for me and—I wouldn't dare trust myself."