d to where
Clayton lay.

"We must draw once more before we are too weak even to eat," he
whispered.

Clayton was in such a state that he was scarcely master of his own
will. Jane Porter had not spoken for three days. He knew that she was
dying. Horrible as the thought was, he hoped that the sacrifice of
either Thuran or himself might be the means of giving her renewed
strength, and so he immediately agreed to the Russian's proposal.

They drew under the same plan as before, but there could be but one
result--Clayton drew the 1875 piece.

"When shall it be?" he asked Thuran.

The Russian had already drawn a pocketknife from his trousers, and was
weakly attempting to open it.

"Now," he muttered, and his greedy eyes gloated upon the Englishman.

"Can't you wait until dark?" asked Clayton. "Miss Porter must not see
this thing done. We were to have been married, you know."

A look of disappointment came over Monsieur Thuran's face.

"Very well," he replied hesitatingly. "It will not be long until
night. I have waited for many days--I can wait a few hours longer."

"Thank you, my friend," murmured Clayton. "Now I shall go to her side
and remain with her until it is time. I would like to have an hour or
two with her before I die."

When Clayton reached the girl's side she was unconscious--he knew that
she was dying, and he was glad that she should not have to see or know
the awful tragedy that was shortly to be enacted. He took her hand and
raised it to his cracked and swollen lips. For a long time he lay
caressing the emaciated, clawlike thing that had once been the
beautiful, shapely white hand of the young Baltimore belle.

It was quite dark before he knew it, but he was recalled to himself by
a voice out of the night. It was the Russian calling him to his doom.

"I am coming, Monsieur Thuran," he hastened to reply.

Thrice he attempted to turn himself upon his hands and knees, that he
might crawl back to his death, but in the few hours that he had lain
there he had become too weak to return to Thuran's side.

"You will have to come to me, monsieur," he called weakly. "I have not
sufficient strength to gain my hands and knees."

"SAPRISTI!" muttered Monsieur Thuran. "You are attempting to cheat me
out of my winnings."

Clayton heard the man shuffling about in the bottom of the boat.
Finally there was a despairing groan. "I cannot crawl," he heard the
Russian wail. "It is too late. You