end of it; we can't do anything for him now,
poor fellow."

"Poor fellow!" Martini echoed, under his breath. He was beginning to
realise that to him, too, the world would look empty and dismal without
the Gadfly.

"What does she think?" the smuggler asked, glancing towards the other
end of the room, where Gemma sat alone, her hands lying idly in her lap,
her eyes looking straight before her into blank nothingness.

"I have not asked her; she has not spoken since I brought her the news.
We had best not disturb her just yet."

She did not appear to be conscious of their presence, but they both
spoke with lowered voices, as though they were looking at a corpse.
After a dreary little pause, Marcone rose and put away his pipe.

"I will come back this evening," he said; but Martini stopped him with a
gesture.

"Don't go yet; I want to speak to you." He dropped his voice still lower
and continued in almost a whisper:

"Do you believe there is really no hope?"

"I don't see what hope there can be now. We can't attempt it again. Even
if he were well enough to manage his part of the thing, we couldn't
do our share. The sentinels are all being changed, on suspicion. The
Cricket won't get another chance, you may be sure."

"Don't you think," Martini asked suddenly; "that, when he recovers,
something might be done by calling off the sentinels?"

"Calling off the sentinels? What do you mean?"

"Well, it has occurred to me that if I were to get in the Governor's way
when the procession passes close by the fortress on Corpus Domini day
and fire in his face, all the sentinels would come rushing to get hold
of me, and some of you fellows could perhaps help Rivarez out in the
confusion. It really hardly amounts to a plan; it only came into my
head."

"I doubt whether it could be managed," Marcone answered with a very
grave face. "Certainly it would want a lot of thinking out for anything
to come of it. But"--he stopped and looked at Martini--"if it should be
possible--would you do it?"

Martini was a reserved man at ordinary times; but this was not an
ordinary time. He looked straight into the smuggler's face.

"Would I do it?" he repeated. "Look at her!"

There was no need for further explanations; in saying that he had said
all. Marcone turned and looked across the room.

She had not moved since their conversation began. There was no doubt, no
fear, even no grief in her face; there was nothing in it but the shadow
o