as to which personality should
eventually dominate.

Byrne turned away from the reproach which replaced the horror in
the girl's eyes, and with a tired sigh let his head fall upon his
outstretched arm. The girl watched him for a moment, a puzzled
expression upon her face, and then returned to work above Theriere.

The Frenchman's respiration was scarcely appreciable, yet after a time
he opened his eyes and looked up wearily. At sight of the girl he smiled
wanly, and tried to speak, but a fit of coughing flecked his lips with
bloody foam, and again he closed his eyes. Fainter and fainter came
his breathing, until it was with difficulty that the girl detected any
movement of his breast whatever. She thought that he was dying, and she
was afraid. Wistfully she looked toward the mucker. The man still lay
with his head buried in his arm, but whether he were wrapped in thought,
in slumber, or in death the girl could not tell. At the final thought
she went white with terror.

Slowly she approached the man, and leaning over placed her hand upon his
shoulder.

"Mr. Byrne!" she whispered.

The mucker turned his face toward her. It looked tired and haggard.

"Wot is it?" he asked, and his tone was softer than she had ever heard
it.

"I think Mr. Theriere is dying," she said, "and I--I-- Oh, I am so
afraid."

The man flushed to the roots of his hair. All that he could think of
were the ugly words he had spoken a short time before--and now Theriere
was dying! Byrne would have laughed had anyone suggested that he
entertained any other sentiment than hatred toward the second officer of
the Halfmoon--that is he would have twenty-four hours before; but now,
quite unexpectedly, he realized that he didn't want Theriere to die, and
then it dawned upon him that a new sentiment had been born within him--a
sentiment to which he had been a stranger all his hard life--friendship.

He felt friendship for Theriere! It was unthinkable, and yet the mucker
knew that it was so. Painfully he crawled over to the Frenchman's side.

"Theriere!" he whispered in the man's ear.

The officer turned his head wearily.

"Do youse know me, old pal?" asked the mucker, and Barbara Harding knew
from the man's voice that there were tears in his eyes; but what she did
not know was that they welled there in response to the words the mucker
had just spoken--the nearest approach to words of endearment that ever
had passed his lips.

Theriere reached up