North remained by the window, his hands clutching the bars with convulsive strength, then the wind which blew fresh and strong in his face brought him the sound of wheels; but this quickly died out in the distance.

Brockett tiptoed into the cell.

“I am going to lie down and see if I can get some sleep,” North said, throwing off his coat.  “If I sleep, call me as soon as it is light—­good night.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ON THE HIGH IRON BRIDGE

As the weeks had passed Marshall Langham had felt his fears lift somewhat, but the days and nights still remained endless cycles of torment.  Wherever he turned and with whomsoever he talked the North case was certain sooner or later to be mentioned.  There were hideous rumors afloat, too, concerning General Herbert’s activity in behalf of the condemned man, and in spite of his knowledge of the law, he was profoundly affected by this wild gossip, this ignorant conjecture, which reason and experience alike told him misstated every fact that bore on the situation.  He was learning just how dependent he had been on Gilmore; no strange imaginings, no foolish vagaries had ever beset the gambler, his brutal vigor had yielded nothing to terror or remorse.

He knew the Herberts had gone to Columbus to make a final appeal to the governor.  Father and daughter had been driven across the Square by Thompson, the Idle Hour foreman, and they had passed below the windows of Langham’s office on their way to the station.  It had seemed to him an iniquitous thing that the old statesman’s position and influence should be brought into the case to defeat his hopes, to rob him of his vengeance, to imperil his very safety.  Racked and tortured, he had no existence outside his fear and hate.  All that day Langham haunted the railway station.  If any word did come over the wires, he wished to know it at once, and if General Herbert returned he wished to see him, since his appearance must indicate success or failure.  If it were failure the knowledge would come none too quickly; if success, in any degree, he contemplated instant flight, for he was obsessed by the belief that then he would somehow stand in imminent peril.

He was pacing the long platform when the afternoon train arrived, but his bloodshot eyes searched the crowd in vain for a sight of General Herbert’s stalwart figure.

“He has just one more chance to get back in time!” he told himself.  “If he doesn’t come to-night it means I am safe!”

His bloodless lips sucked in the warm air.  Safe!  It was the first time in months he had dared to tell himself this; yet a moment later and his fears were crowding back crushing him to earth.  The general might do much in the six hours that remained to him.

He was back at his post when the night train drew in, and his heart gave a great leap in his breast as he saw the general descend from the platform of the sleeper and then turn to assist Elizabeth.  She was closely veiled, but one glance at the pair sufficed.