Lon had kept track of the doings of the young district attorney. He knewthat he had gone to the gubernatorial chair but the year before. Thesquatter smiled gloomily as he remembered the words of a newspaperfriendly to Vandecar, in which he had read that Syracuse was full ofpainful memories for the new governor, and that Floyd Vandecar had takenhis family down the Hudson, to make another home at Tarrytown, whereHarold Brimbecomb, a youthful friend, resided. Another expression ofdark gratification flitted over Lon's heavy features as he reviewedagain the purport of the article. It had plainly said that in the newhome there would be fewer visions of a lost boy and girl to haunt theafflicted parents. Lon realized in his savage heart that the change ofscene would not lessen the grief of the stricken family. It was his onesatisfaction to brood over the bereaved father and mother, delighting inhis part of the tragedy and enjoying every evidence of it. Never for amoment did he think gently of the children, but only of the womansacrificed. On this night she stood so close that, with a groan, he putout his hand. His flesh tingled; for he felt that he could almost touchher, and his heart clamored for the warmth of the tender body he hadnever forgotten.[Pg 47]
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