John had forgotten the feel of fear. Now its return was like a cold stream bathing him. He had looked upon the faces of those who someday might be like himself, lost and forgotten. They had been the faces of madmen.
It was these to whom he must go, these with whom he must plead for his freedom. And not his alone but theirs as well. For the first time he glimpsed the face of defeat. That conviction of destiny, that had fallen like a mantle upon him in those first days, was shaken and torn. He could fail. He could die, leaving undone that which he had sworn to fulfill.
couldcouldHe drove these thoughts away but they only went into hiding and he knew they lurked at the edge of consciousness, ever ready to swarm upon him again. To have seen the devil was to have gone half the way to becoming
