and not lose sight of me. If he had
intended to arrest me, he would have sent a sheriff after me, instead of
coming himself. What would he do next? This was the important question.
Of course I could not answer it. I could only wait for time and
circumstances to develop his plan. As it was useless for me to attempt
to avoid him, I sat down in the saloon, resolved to let things take
their course.

Summoning to my aid all the coolness, self-possession, and impudence I
could command,--and I found that for an emergency in which I had right
and justice on my side, I had an abundant supply of this kind of
ammunition,--I calmly waited the appearance of my adversary. I
deliberately made up my mind to speak up like a man to him, and to stand
my ground like a hero. If he made a scene, I would denounce him, and
punch him with the naked truth.

Tom Thornton appeared to be making a very diligent search below, for it
was half an hour before he came up to the saloon again. Most of the
passengers were out on the hurricane deck, or in other places where they
could view the scenery on the shores of the river. I had plenty of time
to get thoroughly "primed" for the exciting interview I anticipated. As
I thought the matter over, I felt that I had the weather-gage of
him--that all the advantage was on my side. The will was in my
possession, and subject to my order. I had the address of my uncle's
London correspondent, and whatever Tom might threaten, he could not
deprive me of these favoring points. I could afford to be cool and
impudent; and if Tom wanted to talk, I could talk as fast and as much to
the point as he could.

At last I saw him come up the steps. He was certainly a splendid-looking
fellow, though he was evidently a man of the world. He was elegantly
dressed, not over-dressed, and his movements were easy and graceful. I
could not help thinking of these things, in which he had so decided an
advantage over me. But he lacked one thing, without which everything
else is vain and valueless--moral principle. He was a villain, and as
such I despised him.

I could not help noticing that the expression on his face was troubled,
rather than malignant; indeed, he really seemed to be more in sorrow
than in anger. He saw me when he first glanced around the saloon, and
walked towards the sofa on which I was seated. This time he was not
savage and violent, as he had been before when I met him. He had
something to think of now, and perhaps