mine--and her eyes lit on me. "Oh--you wicked boy, you told a
lie!" she gasped. "You did read my letter."

I laughed; laughed out loud, it was such a bully thing to watch
Moriway's face.

But that was an unlucky laugh of mine; it turned his wrath on me.
He made a dive toward me. I ducked and ran. Oh, how I ran! But if
he hadn't slipped on the curb he'd have had me. As he fell,
though, he let out a yell.

"Stop thief! stop thief! Thief! Thief! Thief!"

May you never hear it, Mag, behind you when you've somebody
else's diamonds in your pocket. It sounds--it sounds the way the
bay of the hounds must sound to the hare. It seems to fly along
with the air; at the same time to be behind you, at your side,
even in front of you.

I heard it bellowed in a dozen different voices, and every now
and then I could hear Moriway as I pelted on--that brassy, cruel
bellow of his that made my heart sick.

And then all at once I heard a policeman's whistle.

That whistle was like a signal--I saw the gates of the Correction
open before me. I saw your Nance, Tom, in a neat striped dress,
and she was behind bars--bars--bars! There were bars everywhere
before me. In fact, I felt them against my very hands, for in my
mad race I had shot up a blind alley--a street that ended in a