so as I thought, as I remembered. Every link in the chain of
evidence seemed to fall noiselessly into its place, now that I compared
my own experience with the details furnished me by the mulatto girl.
No other conclusion appeared possible, or probable; no other solution
fully met the facts in the case. The conviction that this young woman
was white, educated, refined, the daughter of good blood--no fleeing
negress, cursed with the black stain of an alien race, a nameless
slave--brought to me a sudden joy in discovery I made no attempt to
conceal. "Eloise Beaucaire, Eloise Beaucaire"--the name repeated
itself on my lips, as though it were a refrain. I knew instantly what
it all meant--that some divine, mysterious hand had led from the very
hour of my leaving Fort Armstrong, and would continue to lead until the
will of God was done. It was not in the stars of Fate that such
villainy should succeed; such sacrifice as hers fail of its reward. I
might not know where to turn, or what to do; yet it was with far
lighter heart, a heart stimulated by new hope, the gleam of love, that
I faced the task before me.

CHAPTER XXI

THE LANDING AT YELLOW BANKS

Nevertheless, in spite of this resolve, and the fresh courage which had
been awakened within me by the faith that from now on I battled for the
love of Eloise Beaucaire, no immediate opportunity for service came.
All that the dark girl knew of her present whereabouts was that she had
been lifted on board, and, in all probability, taken below. Certainly
the girl had not been cabined on the upper deck; nor was I at present
in any position to seek openly the place of her confinement. I could
only wait patiently, and observe.

Supper was served me in front of the boilers, in company with the rest
of the crew. Later, I was assigned a sleeping space on the lower deck,
barely wide enough to lie in, and was permitted to sit among the
others, under the uptilt of the swinging gangway, listening to their
boisterousness, and rough play, or watching the dusk of evening descend
over the deserted waters, as the laboring steamer battled against the
current. It was a still, black night, and the _Adventurer_ made
extremely slow progress, a leadsman at the bow calling off the depth of
water, and a huge light, rather ingeniously arranged, casting a finger
of radiance along the ghostly shore line. With no marks of guidance on
either bank, the wheelsman felt his uncertain passage