a crash on the lower deck. It was Jack who had swung himself
over the rail and dropped ten feet, to her side. But not before she had
placed one foot in the meshes of the netting and had gripped the railing
for a spring.

The noise of Jack's fall might have seemed to her bewildered fancy as a
part of her frantic act, for she fell forward vacantly on the railing.
But by this time Jack had grasped her arm as if to help himself to his
feet.

"I might have killed myself by that foolin', mightn't I?" he said
cheerfully.

The sound of a voice so near her seemed to recall to her dazed sense the
uncompleted action his fall had arrested. She made a convulsive bound
towards the railing, but Jack held her fast.

"Don't," he said in a low voice, "don't, it won't pay. It's the sickest
game that ever was played by man or woman. Come here!"

He drew her towards an empty stateroom whose door was swinging on its
hinges a few feet from them. She was trembling violently; he half led,
half pushed her into the room, closed the door and stood with his back
against it as she dropped into a chair. She looked at him vacantly; the
agitation she was undergoing inwardly had left her no sense of outward
perception.

"You know Stratton would be awfully riled," continued Jack easily. "He's
just stepped out to see a friend and got left by the fool boat. He'll be
along by the next steamer, and you're bound to meet him in Sacramento."

Her staring eyes seemed suddenly to grasp his meaning. But to his
surprise she burst out with a certain hysterical desperation, "No! no!
Never! NEVER again! Let me pass! I must go," and struggled to regain
the door. Jack, albeit singularly relieved to know that she shared
his private sentiments regarding Stratton, nevertheless resisted her.
Whereat she suddenly turned white, reeled back, and sank in a dead faint
in the chair.

The gambler turned, drew the key from the inside of the door, passed
out, locking it behind him, and walked leisurely into the main saloon.
"Mrs. Johnson," he said gravely, addressing the stewardess, a tall
mulatto, with his usual winsome supremacy over dependents and children,
"you'll oblige me if you'll corral a few smelling salts, vinaigrettes,
hairpins, and violet powder, and unload them in deck stateroom No. 257.
There's a lady"--

"A lady, Marse Hamlin?" interrupted the mulatto, with an archly
significant flash of her white teeth.

"A lady," continued Jack with unabashed gravity,