“A sentence of thirty years in the penitentiary is a big price for a young man to pay for being a fool, Miss Andres.  He was twenty-five when he went in—­strong and vigorous, with a good mind; the prospects years of prison life—­but that’s not the story.  I could not hope to make you understand what a thirty years sentence to the penitentiary means to a man of twenty-five.  But, at least, you will not wonder that the man watched for an opportunity to escape.  He prayed for an opportunity.  For ten years,—­ten years,—­Miss Andres, the man watched and prayed for a chance to escape.  Then he got away.

“He was never a criminal at heart, you must understand.  He had no wish, now, to live a life of crime.  He wished only to live a sane, orderly, useful, life of freedom.  They hunted him to the mountains.  They could not take him, but they made it impossible for him to escape—­he was starving—­dying.  He would not give himself up to the twenty years of hell that waited him.  He did not want to die—­but he would die rather than go back.

“Then, one day, when he was very near the end, a man found him.  The poor hunted devil of a convict aroused his pity.  He offered help.  He gave the wretched, starving creature food.  He arranged to furnish him with supplies, until it would be safe for him to leave his hiding place.  He brought him food and clothing and books.  Later, when the convict’s prison pallor was gone, when his hair and beard were grown, and the prison manner and walk were, in some measure, forgotten; when the officers, thinking that he had perished in the mountains, had given up looking for him; his benefactor gave him work—­beautiful work in the orange groves—­where he was safe and happy and useful and could feel himself a man.

“Do you wonder, Miss Andres, that the man was grateful?  Do you wonder that he worshipped his benefactor—­that he looked upon his friend as upon his savior?”

“No,” said the girl, “I do not wonder.  It was a beautiful thing to do—­to help the poor fellow who wanted to do right.  I do not wonder that the man who had escaped, loved his friend.”

“But listen,” said the other, “when the convict was beginning to feel safe; when he saw that he was out of danger; when he was living an honorable, happy life, instead of spending his days in the hell they call prison; when he was looking forward to years of happiness instead of to years of torment; then his benefactor came to him suddenly, one day, and said, ’Unless you do what I tell you, now—­unless you help me to something that I want, I will send you back to prison.  Do as I say, and your life shall go on as it is—­as you have planned.  Refuse, and I will turn you over to the officers, and you will go back to your hell for the remainder of your life.’

“Do you wonder, Miss Andres, that the convict obeyed his master?”