went out on the deck to walk and watch the
moonlight. As I walked softly up and down, I heard voices, two men, in
the shadow of one of the cabins. They were talking and now and then I
could catch a word. It was about Guillaume. I heard them say that he was
plotting another revolution, that that was the reason he was going to
New York--not because he wanted to be on the boat with me. There was
something about money, too, although I couldn't get it very clearly. It
had to do with an American banking house, Forsythe & Co., I
think,--money that was to be paid to Guillaume to start an uprising. I
think they must have heard me, for I couldn't hear any more and they
moved off down the deck, so that I couldn't recognize them. You see, I
am not a revolutionist. My guardian belongs to the old order."

She stopped again, as though in doubt just how to go on. "Anyhow," she
continued finally, "I determined to tell Guillaume. It would have made
it harder for us--but it was he, not his politics, I loved." She was
almost crying as she blurted out, "But it was only the next day that he
was found dead in his stateroom. I never saw him alive after I overheard
that talk."

It was some moments before she had calmed herself so that she could go
on. "You know our people, Professor Kennedy," she resumed, choking back
her sobs. "Some said his dead body was like Jonah, and ought to be
thrown off to the sea. Then others didn't even want to have it touched,
said that it ought to be embalmed. And others didn't want that, either."

"What do you mean? Who were they?"

"Oh, there was one man,--Castine," she replied, hesitating over the
name, as though afraid even to mention it.

"He wanted it thrown overboard?" prompted Craig.

"N--no, he didn't want that, either," she replied. "He urged them not to
touch it--just to leave it alone."

She was very much frightened, evidently at her own temerity in coming to
Craig and saying so much. Yet something seemed to impel her to go on.

"Oh, Professor Kennedy," she exclaimed in a sudden burst of renewed
feeling, "don't you understand? I--I loved him--even after I found out
about the money and what he intended to do with it. I could not see his
dear body thrown in the ocean."

She shivered all over at the thought, and it was some time before she
said anything more. But Kennedy let her do as she pleased, as he often
did when deep emotion was wringing the secrets from people's hearts.

"He is dead!" she