ly saw and knew him: more than that,
that the sight gave her pleasure. But in another instant she had
recovered herself, and turned to ask some quick question of the young
gallant at her side, and Stuyvesant, who was almost at the point of
bowing low, found himself savagely hating those yellow straps and
stripes and wishing the cavalry in perdition. Somebody was speaking to
Mr. Ray, and he couldn't catch that young officer's eye. The party
stopped a moment at the threshold, one of the officers was saying
good-night, and then a voice at Stuyvesant's elbow said "Which is
Lieutenant Ray?" It was the bell-boy.

A sudden inspiration came to Stuyvesant. "What is it?" he said. "Have
you a message for him?"

"Yes," was the answer. "They're telephoning for him from the
Presidio,--want him to come at once."

"Tell me the whole message and I'll give it," said Stuyvesant. "Anything
wrong?"

"Yes, sir. The clerk's at the 'phone now, but I couldn't get the
trouble. Something's broke loose, as I understand it."

And that delay was fatal. Bounding up the steps, three at a stride, came
a young officer, breathless, and made straight for the group. Seeing
that Mrs. Ray and Miss Marion were close at hand, he paused one moment,
then with significant gesture called Ray to his side. Then Stuyvesant
could not but hear every word of the sudden and startling message.

"Ray, you're wanted at the barracks at once. Prisoners 'scaped and your
house is robbed!"

Stuyvesant ran beside him as Ray went bounding down the stairs and out
into Montgomery Street.

"Can I be of any service? Can I help you some way?" he urged, for he saw
the young officer was looking white and anxious. But Ray hurriedly
thanked him and declined. He could not imagine, he said, what his loss
might be, yet something told him if anybody had escaped it was that
hulking sinner Murray.

He sprang upon the first street-car at the corner, waved his hand in
parting, and was whisked away westward, leaving Stuyvesant standing
disconsolate.

How now could he hope to meet her? The clerk at the office seemed
friendly and sympathetic when Stuyvesant wandered back there, and gave
him such particulars of the situation at the Presidio as he had been
able to gather over the wire. It seemed that a rumor had reached the
commanding officer that a number of tools had been smuggled into the
guard-house by the prisoners, and by the aid of these they hoped to cut
their way out. Despite the