that there was no one else to fill,
and then had begun the long martyrdom that, she now saw, could have only
one ending. She and the Governor were doomed. Already the great wave of
revolution towered above them. Very soon it would burst and sweep both
away into the terrible vortex of destruction.

It was only of late that she had come to realise this, and the horror of
the awakening still at times had power to appal her. For she knew she
was utterly unprotected. She had tried in vain to rouse the Governor to
see the ever-growing danger, had striven desperately to open his eyes to
the unmistakable signs of the coming change. He had laughed at her at
first, and later, when she had implored him to resign his post, he had
brutally refused.

She had never approached him again on the matter, seeing the futility of
argument; but on that selfsame day she had provided herself with a means
of escape which could not fail her when the last terrible moment
arrived. Flight she never contemplated. It would have been an utter
impossibility. She was without friends, without money. Her relations in
England were to her as beings in another sphere. She had known them in
her childhood, but they had since dropped out of her existence. The only
offer of help that had reached her was that which she had just rejected
from the man whom, of all others, she most hated and desired to avoid.

She shivered suddenly and violently as she recalled the interview. Was
it possible that she feared him as well? She had always disliked him,
conscious of something in his manner that perpetually excited her
antagonism. She had felt his lynx eyes watching her continually
throughout the bitter struggle, and she had known always that he was
watching for her downfall.

He was the richest man in the island, and as such his influence was
considerable. He had not yet made common cause with the revolutionary
party, but it was generally felt that his sympathies were on their side,
and it was in him that the majority hoped to find a leader when the time
for rebellion should be ripe. He had never committed himself to do so,
but no one on either side doubted his intentions, Mademoiselle
Stephanie, as every one called her, least of all.

She had been accustomed to meeting him fairly often, though he had never
been a very frequent guest at the palace. Perhaps he divined her
aversion, or perhaps--and this was the more likely supposition--his
hatred of the Governor debarr