“Listen!” he said.  “I told you before to get up and come with us—­that is my answer now.  If you have life enough left to be carried to the gallows-foot, you shall never cheat the hangman.”

Bruce looked up into the speaker’s face for some moments.  Gradually the agonized appeal in his wild eyes died away into vacancy; an expression, half cunning, half amused, stole over his face; and, leaning gently back, he began pulling threads out of the coverlet, laughing low.

The blood gushed from Guy’s clenched hand as he struck it furiously against the stone mantel.

“By ——­,” he said, with a fearful oath, “he has escaped me, after all.”

It was so.  The mind, worn and strained by the terrors of the long pursuit, perhaps by remorse not acknowledged even to himself; and by the last great effort at self-control, had given way at last—­forever.  God had recorded his verdict, and no earthly court could try the criminal again.  Bruce is living now (and I dare say will outlive most of us, for his bodily health is perfect), vicious sometimes, but never conscious; hard to please, but easy to manage, so long as his attendant is a man, and a strong one; accessible only to the one emotion which drove him mad—­physical fear.

Livingstone called the officers; they came in with Macbane.  The old man pretended to be very wroth when he saw his master’s state, but I believe he rejoiced secretly.  The credit of the family, with him, outweighed all considerations of personal attachment, and he would think public disgrace cheaply averted at any price.

On our poor detective, perhaps, the blow fell heaviest; for, after some time, Guy did come round to my idea, that no punishment we could have brought about would have been so ample and terrible; but Mr. Fitchett could not see it in that light at all.  Not only was the termination of the affair dreadfully unprofessional, but the little triumph he had anticipated at the trial was spoiled.  If human weakness ever could touch this great man, it was when he heard the judge pay a compliment to “the sagacity and zeal of that most efficient officer.”  On such occasions, his bow of conscious merit abnegating praise was, I am told, wonderful to see.  After a few words of explanation, he glanced wistfully at Bruce, and shook his head, like a broken-hearted Lord Burleigh.  Then he unloosed the handcuffs from Macbane’s wrists, whistling all the while softly a popular air, lively in itself, with a cadence so plaintive that it might have been a penitential psalm.  No romantic school-girl opening the cage to her pet starling ever displayed more hesitation and reluctance than Mr. Fitchett setting that grim old bird free.

In truth, there was no evidence to attach to the servant, so we left him and his master together.  I could not have stood that room much longer.  The ceaseless complacent chuckle of the idiot, and his fearful grimaces when he could not make the threads match, had the effect on my chest of a nightmare.  Very slowly and silently we walked home through the darkness.