ruly woman's mouth. "No!"
he mused. "That would never do here--on shipboard. The steward,
old Heinrichs, is too smart for all that. I must get her away into
some lonely place abroad. For only in that way can I hide Clayton's
fate from her. They never reprint American news in Poland or Eastern
Prussia and Silesia. Perhaps Russia will hide me. First, to quiet
her; next, to make the money safe; lastly, to get rid of her."

But friendly devils aided him with adroit whispers. His brow was
unruffled as he bade his carousing chum, the steward, adieu at
midnight. The good ship dashed merrily on breasting the Atlantic
waves.

It was long after eight bells the next morning when Irma Gluyas
slowly opened her eyes and wonderingly gazed at her tyrant master
watching her with steadfast eyes. Neither spoke until the pale-faced
woman realized the onward motion of the sturdy old liner, and her
deep-set eyes had wandered over the nautical surroundings. Then
she buried her face in her hands and a flood of stormy sorrow shook
her frame.

The acute-minded Fritz Braun knew that he had her at his mercy, for
the regulated doses of the narcotic had brought about a profound
reaction. Helplessness, coma, stupor, hallucination, dejection;
she had passed through every phase.

Turning her wan face toward him at last, the singer, in a hollow
voice, curtly said, "Explain all this!" There was a glance in
her recklessly brave eyes which made the soi disant August Meyer
relapse into a whining tenderness. "The high hand won't do here,"
he quickly resolved.

"You have been ill, my poor comrade," he tenderly said. "It's all
right now. That thunder-storm drove you frantic; you had a heart
seizure, and I had all I could do to get you away from New York
in secret." The woman eyed him doubtfully. "Whither are we going?"
she resolutely asked. "To any safe retreat in north eastern Europe
you choose," coaxingly replied Braun.

"Why?" demanded Irma, raising herself on one arm and pointing an
accusing finger. "If you have broken your oath, God forgive you!
It's your life or mine, then!"

"She does love him," was Braun's inward comment. "Stop your high
dramatic play-acting," soberly said Braun, holding a glass of
Tokayer to her lips. "Lilienthal was pounced down upon for smuggling
phenacetine. My own drug-store was searched. Thank God! none was
found there. He gave bail, the honest fellow managed to telegraph
me the agreed-on tip. I was watching over y