If she is waitin' for him down there, he'll come; he'll sure come.

Hell couldn't hold him against such as that, and when he comes--" Unconsciously, as he spoke the last sentences, the giant's voice took a tone of terrible meaning, and he slowly rose from his seat.
When he uttered the last word he was standing erect, his muscles tense, his powerful frame shaken with passion.
There was an inarticulate cry of horror, as the mountaineer's guest started to his feet.

A moment he stood, then sank back into his chair, a cowering, shivering heap.
Long into the night, the stranger walked the floor of his little room under the roof, his face drawn and white, whispering half aloud things that would have startled his unsuspecting host.

"MY boy--MY boy--MINE! To do such a thing as that! Howard--Howard.

O Christ! that I should live to be glad that you are dead! And that picture! His masterpiece, the picture that made his fame, the picture he would never part with, and that we could never find! I see it all now! Just God, what a thing to carry on one's soul!" Once he paused to stand at the window, looking down upon the valley.