“I mean—what’d you do?... What for?”
“Old friend, you’ve grown thick of wits,” rejoined Adam. “Because of my crime.”
“An’ what was thet, Adam Larey?” queried Merryvale, sharply.
“The crime of Cain,” replied Adam, sadly. “Come, friend—take me to my brother’s grave.”
Merryvale seemed galvanized from age to youth.
“Your brother’s grave!... Guerd Larey’s grave? By heaven! I wish I could take you to it!... Adam, you’re out of your head. You are desert mad.... Bless you, lad, you’ve made a terrible mistake! You’re not what you think you are. You’ve hid in the desert fourteen years—you’ve gone through hell—you’ve become Wansfell—all for nothin’!... My God! to think of thet!... Adam, you’re no murderer. Your brother is not dead. He wasn’t even bad hurt. No—no—Guerd Larey’s alive—alive—alive!”
Press of The Hunter-Rose Company, Limited
Transcriber’s Note
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unpaired quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unpaired.