He came, dry-eyed, through the ordeal, raging inwardly, but silent.

And that night, after his father had gone to bed, he stole stealthily out of the house, threw a saddle and bridle on his favorite pony and rode away.

Such had been his youth.
That had been thirteen years ago.

He was twenty-eight now and had changed a little--for the worse.

During the days of his exile he had made no friends.