What did you stay around there for?"

Bela was cornered. True to her wild nature, her eyes turned desirously
toward the open door. The bishop laid a hand on her arm.

"Tell the truth, my daughter," he said gently. "No one shall harm
you."

Bela turned to him. "I am 'mos' white," she explained, as if he were
the only reasonable person present. "I lak be wit' white people."

Here a titter passed over the native audience at what they considered
her presumption. Bela's eyes flashed scorn on them. She forgot her
terrors.

"I am not one of these!" she cried. "I am white! I want marry a white
man!"

An odd start of surprised laughter escaped the white spectators. They
glanced at each other to make sure they had heard aright.

"Oh!" cried Coulson. "Now we're getting down to it. The prisoner here
was the one you picked out?"

"Yes!" answered Bela defiantly. "He is the best man."

"Well----" exclaimed Coulson.

Suddenly the richness of the situation broke on the spectators, and a
gale of laughter swept through the room.

The bishop laughed, too, though he patted Bela's arm encouragingly. At
least, she was telling the truth now. It was too extraordinary to be
otherwise.

Only the three men by the door did not laugh. With eyes full of hate,
they glared at the girl and at the prisoner.

Big Jack, the most astute of the three, was the first to recover
himself. It occurred to him that unless the rest of the story were
prevented from coming out, their humiliation would be complete and
abject.

With a glance of warning at his companions, he threw back his head and
laughed louder than any. Shand and Joe, comprehending, followed suit.
Their laughter had a bitter ring, but in a gale of laughter the
difference passed unnoticed.

The prisoner turned white to his lips. He preserved an unnatural
calmness. Only his wild, pained eyes betrayed the blinding, maddening
rage that was consuming him.

Bela, whose eyes were only for him, turned pale to match. "Sam," she
whispered imploringly.

"Cut me loose," he said thickly.

She looked about her. One passed her a knife, with which she cut his
bonds, all the time searching his face with her terrified eyes,
seeking to discover what he meant to do.

"I suppose I am free to go," he said stiffly to Coulson.

"Sure!" answered the policeman. He was kindly now--grateful, indeed,
for the magnificent joke which had been provided.

"Sam! Sam!" Bela murmured piteously.

The specta