ese two mysterious girls were, their strange story
fascinated my imagination. What possible tragedy lay before them in
the years? what horrible revelation to wrench them asunder? to change
in a single instant the quiet current of their lives? About them,
unseen as yet, lurked a grim specter, waiting only the opportunity to
grip them both in the fingers of disgrace, and make instant mock of all
their plans. In spite of every effort, every lurking hope, some way I
could not rid myself of the thought that Beaucaire--either through
sheer neglect, or some instinct of bitter hatred--had failed to meet
the requirements of his duty. Even as I sat there, struggling vainly
against this suspicion, the Judge himself came forth upon the lower
deck, and began pacing back and forth restlessly beside the rail. It
was a struggle for me not to join him; the impetuousity of youth urging
me even to brave his anger in my eagerness to ascertain the whole
truth. Yet I possessed sense enough, or discretion, to refrain,
realizing dimly that, not even in the remotest degree, had I any excuse
for such action. This was no affair of mine. Nor, indeed, would I
have found much opportunity for private conversation, for, only a
moment or two later, Kirby joined him, and the two remained together,
talking earnestly, until the gong called us all to supper.

Across the long table, bare of cloth, the coarse food served in pewter
dishes, I was struck by the drawn, ghastly look in Beaucaire's face.
He had aged perceptibly in the last few hours, and during the meal
scarcely exchanged a word with anyone, eating silently, his eyes
downcast. Kirby, however, was the life of the company, and the miners
roared at his humorous stories, and anecdotes of adventure--while
outside it grew dark, and the little _Warrior_ struggled cautiously
through the waters, seeking the channel in the gloom.

CHAPTER IV

THE END OF THE GAME

Unconscious that the stage had thus been set for a great life drama, a
drama in which, through strange circumstances, I was destined to play
my part, amid stirring scenes of Indian war, and in surroundings that
would test my courage and manhood to the utter-most; yet, although I
heard it not, the hour had already struck, and I stood on the brink of
a tragedy beyond my power to avert.

I left the others still seated about the table, and returned alone to
the outer deck. I had no plans for the evening, and retain now only
slight