only battle one would probably ever see was occurring
in the street just outside, seemed far from sensible. But, after she
had looked out for a few moments, had seen a belated fruit-vender
crumple to the street, and had smelled the acrid stench of the burnt
powder, she was willing to turn away.

Inasmuch as the stay of Duska and her aunt involved several days of
waiting for the sailing of the next ship, Duska was somewhat surprised
at hearing nothing from Saxon in the meanwhile. He had had time to
reach the point to which the cablegram was addressed. She had told him
she would sail by the _Orinoco_, since that was the first available
steamer. At such a time, Saxon would certainly answer that message.
She fancied he would even manage to join her steamer, either by coming
down to meet it, or waiting to intercept it at the place where he had
received her message. Consequently, when she reached that port and
sailed again without either seeing Saxon or receiving a message from
him, she was decidedly surprised, and, though she did not admit it
even to herself, she was likewise alarmed.

It happened that one of her fellow passengers on the steamer _Orinoco_
was a tall, grave gentleman, who wore his beard trimmed in the French
fashion, and who in his bearing had a certain air of distinction.

On a coast vessel, it was unusual for a passenger to hold himself
apart and reserved against the chance companionships of a voyage. Yet,
this gentleman did so. He had been introduced by the captain as M.
Herve, had bowed and smiled, but since that he had not sought to
further the acquaintanceship, or to recognize it except by a polite
bow or smile when he passed one of the party on his solitary deck
promenades.

Possibly, this perfunctory greeting would have been the limit and
confine of their associations, had he not chanced to be standing one
day near enough to Duska and Steele to overhear their conversation.
The voyage was almost ended, and New York was not far off. Long ago,
the lush rankness of the tropics had given way to the more temperate
beauty of the higher zones, and this beauty was the beauty of early
autumn.

Steele was talking of Frederick Marston, and the girl was listening
with interest. As long as Saxon insisted on remaining the first
disciple, she must of course be interested in his demi-god. Just now,
however, Saxon's name was not mentioned. Finally, the stranger turned,
and came over with a smile.

"When I hear