CHAPTER I

HALF A CHANCE

BY

FREDERIC S. ISHAM

AUTHOR OF

UNDER THE ROSE

THE LADY OF THE MOUNT, ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

HERMAN PFEIFER

INDIANAPOLIS

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT 1909

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

OCTOBER

PRESS OF

BRAUNWORTH & CO.

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS

BROOKLYN, N.Y.

* * * * *

CONTENTS

PART ONE

I MR. GILLETT'S CHARGE

II A MESSAGE TO THE ADMIRALTY

III AN UNAPPRECIATED BOUNTY

PART TWO

I THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE

II AT THE OPERA

III A LESSON IN BOTANY

IV TIDES VARYING

V IN THE PARK

VI A CONFERENCE

VII INCIDENTS

VIII A CHANGE OF FRONT

IX AWAY FROM THE TOWN

X A CONTEST

XI WAYS AND MEANS

XII FESTIVITIES

XIII THE PRINCESS SUITE

XIV AN ANSWER

XV CURRENTS AND COUNTER CURRENTS

XVI FLIGHT

XVII THE UNEXPECTED

XVIII THROUGH THE FOG

XIX THE LAST SHIFT

XX THE PAPER

XXI A CONDITION

XXII NEAR THE RIVER

XXIII PAST AND PRESENT

* * * * *

PART ONE

CHAPTER I

MR. GILLETT'S CHARGE

"By all means, m'deah, let's go down between decks and have a look at

them."

"Of course, if you wish, Sir Charles, although--Do you think we shall be

edified, Mr. Gillett?"

"That depends, m'lady,"--and the speaker, a man with official manners

and ferret-like eyes, shifted from one foot to another,--"on what

degree, or particular class of criminal your ladyship would be

interested in," he added. "If in the ordinary category of skittle

sharper or thimblerigger," with a suspicion of mild scorn, "then I do

not imagine your ladyship would find much attraction in the present

cargo. But, on the other hand," in a livelier tone, "if your ladyship

has any curiosity, or shall we say, a psychological bent, regarding the

real out-and-outer, the excursion should be to your liking. For,"

rubbing his hands, "a properer lot of cutthroats and bad magsmen, it has

never been my privilege to escort across the equator; and this is my

sixth trip to Australia!"

"How interesting! How very interesting!" The lady's voice floated

languidly. "Sir Charles is quite right. We must really go down. At any

rate, it will be a change, after having been shut up so long in that

terrible state-room."

"One moment, m'lady! There's a little formality that must be observed

first."

"Formality?" And the lady, who was of portly appearance and uncertain

age, gazed from the speaker standing deferentially before her, to a man

of size, weight and importance seated in a comfortable chair at her

side. "What does he mean, Sir Charles?"

"Regulations, m'lady--m'lord!" was the answer. "No one allowed on the

prisoners' deck without the captain's permission. There he is now."

"Then be good enough to beckon to him!" said the lady.

But this Mr. Gillett, agent of the police, discreetly declined to do;

Captain Macpherson was a man not to be beckoned to by any one; much less

by him. As he stood squarely in the center of the ship, he looked like a

mariner capable of commanding his boat and all the people aboard;

indeed, some of the characteristics of his vessel seemed to have entered

into his own make-up; the man matched the craft. Broad-nosed, wide of

beam, big, massive, obstinate-looking, the _Lord Nelson_ plowed

aggressively through the seas. With every square sail tugging hard at

her sturdy masts, she smote and over-rode the waves, and, beating them

down, maintained an unvarying, stubborn poise. But although she refused

to vacillate or shuffle to the wooing efforts of the uneasy waters, she

progressed not without noise and pother; foamed and fumed mightily at

the bow and left behind her a wake, receding almost as far as the eyes

might reach. Captain Macpherson looked after the bubbles, cast his

glance aloft at the bulging patches of white, and then condescended to

observe the agent of the police who had silently approached.

"Sir Charles and lady, and Sir Charles' party have expressed, Captain

Macpherson, the desire to obtain permission to visit the prisoners'

deck."

Captain Macpherson looked toward Sir Charles and his lady, the other

passengers lounging around them, a little girl, at the rail, her hair,

blown windward, a splash of gold against the blue sky. "What for?" said

the skipper bruskly.

"To have a look at the convicts, I suppose."

"What good'll that do them?" growled the commander. "Idle curiosity,

that's what I call it. Well, go along. Only, I'll hold you accountable,

and bear this in your mind, no tracts!"

"I don't think," replied Mr. Gillett with some asperity, "you need be

apprehensive on that score, Captain Macpherson. Sir Charles and m'lady

are not that sort."

"Well, keep them away from the bars. The weather has nae improved the

tempers of a few of the rapscallions, and they'd like naught better than

a chance for their claws."

"Thanks for the permission, and," a little stiffly, "the admonition,

which latter," turning away, "a man whose lifelong profession has been

dealing with convicts is most likely to stand in need of and heed."

Captain Macpherson frowned, stumped the other way, then looked once more

aloft, and, by the exercise of that ingenuity peculiarly his own, found

new tasks for the sailors. Aboard any ship, especially a ship of this

character, it was his theory and practice that discipline could not be

too strictly maintained and the men on the _Lord Nelson_ knew no idle

moments.

"May I go, too?"

The child with the golden hair desisted in her occupation of watching

the flying-fish and other _real_-winged creatures, and, leaving the

rail, walked toward the group that was about to follow Mr. Gillett. She

was a very beautiful girl of ten or eleven; slim, delicately fashioned,

of a definite proud type. But although she held herself erect, in an

unconscious patrician sort of way, there was, also, about her something

wayward and different from the conventional, aristocratic set. The

disordered golden hair proclaimed it, while in the depths of the fine,

blue eyes manifold changing lights told of a capriciousness out of the

pale of a stiffly decorous and well-contained caste.

"May I go, too, aunt?" she repeated.

"Why, of course!" interposed a blasé, cynical-appearing young man who

had just emerged from the cabin. "Don't know where she wants to go, or

what she wants to do; but don't say she can't; really you mustn't, now."

"Well, since you insist on spoiling her, Lord Ronsdale--"

He twisted a blond mustache which adorned a handsome face that bore many

marks of what is called experience of the world. "Couldn't do that!

Besides, Jocelyn and I are great chums, don't you know. We're going to

be married some day when she grows up."

"_Are_ we?" said the child. "The man _I_ marry must be very big and

strong, and must _not_ have light hair."

Lord Ronsdale laughed tolerantly.

"Plenty of time for you to change your mind, don't you know. Meanwhile,

I'll not despair. Faint heart, and so on. But," turning to Sir Charles,

"where is it she 'wants to go?'"

"To see the convicts."

"Convicts? Ah!" He spoke rather more quickly than usual, with accent

sharper.

"You didn't know who your neighbors were going to be when you decided so

suddenly to accompany us?"

"No." His voice had a metallic sound.

Sir Charles addressed Mr. Gillett. "Tell us something more definite

about your charges whom we are going to inspect. Meant to have found out

earlier in the voyage, but been so jolly seasick, what with one gale

after another, I for one, until now, haven't much cared whether we had

Claude Duval and Dick Turpin themselves for neighbors, or whether we all

went straight to Davy Jones' locker together. A bad lot, you have

already informed us! But how bad?"

"Well, we haven't exactly M. Duval or Mr. Turpin in the pen, but we've

one or two others almost as celebrated in their way. There's Billy

Burke, as desperate a cracksman as the country can produce, with,"

complacently, "a record second to none in his class. He"--and Mr.

Gillett, with considerable zest entered into the details of Mr. Burke's

eventful and rapacious career. "Then there's the ''Frisco Pet,' or the

'Pride of Golden Gate,' as some of the sporting papers call him."

"The 'Frisco Pet!" Lord Ronsdale started; his color slightly changed;

his lashes drooped over his cold eyes. "He is on board this vessel?"

"Yes; you remember him, my Lord, I dare say?"

"In common with many others," shortly.

"Many of the gentry and titled classes did honor him with their

attention, I believe."

"Why," asked Jocelyn, whose blue eyes were fastened very intently on the

face of the police agent, "did they call him such a funny name, the

'Frisco Pet?"

"Because he's a yankee bruiser, prize-fighter, or was, before the drink

got him," explained Mr. Gillett. "And originally, I believe, he hailed

from the land of the free. Some one brought him to London, found out

about his 'talents' and put him in training. He was a low, ignorant

sailor; could scarcely write his own name; but he had biceps and a thick

head. Didn't know when he was whipped. I can see him yet, as he used to

look, with his giant shoulders and his swagger as he stepped into the

ring. There was no nonsense about him--or his fist; could break a board

with that. And how the shouts used to go up; 'the pet!' 'a quid on the

pet!' 'ten bob on the stars and stripes!' meaning the costume he wore.

Oh, he was a favorite in Camden Town! But one night he failed them; met

some friends from the forecastle of a Yankee trader that had dropped

down the Thames. Went into the ring with a stagger added to the swagger.

Well, they took him out unconscious; never was a man worse punished. He

never got back to the sawdust, and the sporting gentlemen lost a bright

and shining light."

"Broke his heart, I suppose," observed Sir Charles.

"How could that break his heart?" asked the child wonderingly. "I

thought when people had their hearts broken--"

"Jocelyn, don't interrupt!" said the wife of Sir Charles. "Although," to

her husband, in a lower tone, "I must confess these details a little

tiresome!"

"Not a bit!" Sir Charles' voice rose in lively protest. "I remember out

in Australia reading about the fellow in the sporting papers from home,

and wondering what had become of him. So that was it? Go on, Mr.

Gillett! With your permission, m'love!"

The police agent proceeded. "After that it was a case of the rum and the

toss-pots, and when he was three sheets in the wind, look out for

squalls! He got put in quad, broke out, overpowered and nearly killed

two guards. Took to various means of livelihood, until they got him

again. Trouble in prison; transferred to the solitary with a little

punishment thrown in for a reminder. When he got out of limbo again, he

lived in bad company, in one of the tunnels near the Adelphi; hard place

for the police to rout a cove from. Then followed a series of rough

bungling jobs he was supposed to have been mixed up in. At any rate, he

got the credit. More hazards than loot! He had too heavy fingers for

anything fine; but he made it quite interesting for the police, quite

interesting! So much so, he attracted _me_, and I concluded to take a

hand, to direct the campaign against him, as it were."

Mr. Gillett paused; obviously in his case egotism allied to enthusiasm

made his duties a pleasure; he seemed now briefly commending himself in

his own mind. "Up to this time," he resumed, "our friend, the

ex-pugilist, had never actually killed any one, but soon after I engaged

myself to look after him, word was brought to the department that a poor

woman had been murdered, a cheap music-hall dancer. She had seen better

days, however."

Lord Ronsdale, who had been looking away, yawned, as if finding the

police agent "wordy," then strolled to the rail.

"Suspicion pointed strongly in his direction; and we got him after a

struggle. It was a hard fight, without a referee, and maybe we used him

a little rough, but we had to. Then Dandy Joe was brought in. Joe's a

plain, mean little gambler and race-track follower, with courage not big

enough for broad operations. But he had a wide knowledge of what we term

the thieves' catacombs, and, well, he 'peached' on the big fellow. Gave

testimony that was of great service to the prosecution. The case seemed

clear enough; there was some sort of contrary evidence put in, but it

didn't amount to anything. His record was against him and he got a heavy

sentence, with death as a penalty, if he ever sets foot in England

again."

"What," asked Mr. Gillett's youngest listener, "is 'peached'?"

"In school-girl parlance, it is, I believe, to 'tell on' some one."

"You mean a tattle-tale?" scornfully. "I hate them."

"They have their uses," he answered softly. "And I'm rather partial to

them, myself. But if you are ready, m'lord--m'lady--"

"Quite! Egad! I'm curious to have a look at the fellow. Used to like to

see a good honest set-to myself occasionally, before I

became--ahem!--governor!" And rising with alacrity, Sir Charles assisted

his lady from her chair. "Coming, Ronsdale?"

"Believe I won't go down," drawled the nobleman at the rail. "Air better

up here," he explained.

Sir Charles laughed, got together the other members of his party and all

followed Mr. Gillett to a narrow companion way. There a strong iron door

stopped their progress, but, taking a key from his pocket the police

agent thrust it into a great padlock, gave it a turn, and swung back the

barrier. Before them stretched a long aisle; at each end stood a

soldier, with musket; on one side were the cells, small, heavily-barred.

The closeness of the air was particularly and disagreeably noticeable;

here sunlight never entered, and the sullen beating of the waves against

the wooden shell was the only sound that disturbed the tomb-like

stillness of the place.

One or two of the party looked soberer; the child's eyes were large with

awe and wonder; she regarded, not without dread, something moving, a

shape, a human form in each terrible little coop. But Mr. Gillett's face

shone with livelier emotions; he peered into the cells at his charges

with a keen bright gaze that had in it something of the animal tamer's

zest for his part.

"Well, how are we all to-day?" he observed in his most animated manner

to the guard. "All doing well?"

"Number Six complained of being ill, but I say it's only the dumps.

Number Fourteen's been garrulous."

"Garrulous, eh? Not a little flighty?" The guard nodded; Mr. Gillett

whispered a few instructions, asked a number of other questions.

Meanwhile the child had paused before one of the cells and, fascinated,

was gazing within. What was it that held her? the pity of the spectacle?

the terror of it? Her blue eyes continued to rest on the convict, a

young fellow of no more than one-and-twenty, of magnificent proportions,

but with face sodden and brutish. For his part he looked at her,

open-mouthed, with an expression of stupid surprise at the sight of the

figure so daintily and slenderly fashioned, at the tangles of bright

golden hair that seemed to have imprisoned some of the sunshine from

above.

"Well, I'm blowed!" he muttered hoarsely. "Where'd you come from? Looks

like one o' them bally Christmas dolls had dropped offen some counter in

Fleet Street and got in here by mistake!"

A mist sprang to the blue eyes; she held her white, pretty fingers tight

against her breast. "It must be terrible--here"--she said falteringly.

The convict laughed harshly. "Hell!" he said laconically.

The child trembled. "I'm sorry," she managed to say.

The fierce dark eyes stared at her. "What for?"

"Because--you have to stay here--"

"Well, I'm--" But this time he apparently found no adequate adjective.

"If this ain't the rummiest Christmas doll!"

She put out her hand. "Here's something for you, poor man," she said, as

steadily as she could. "It's my King George gold piece, date 1762, and

belonged to my father who wore it on his watch chain and who is dead.

Perhaps they'll let you buy something with it."

He looked at the hand. "If she ain't stickin' out her duke to me, right

through the bars. Blamed if she ain't! Looks like a lily! A bally white

lily!" he repeated wonderingly. "One of them kind we wonst run acrost

when the Cap. turned us adrift on an island, jest to waller in green

grass!"

"Don't you want it?" said the child.

He extended a great, coarse hand hesitatingly, as if half-minded to and

half-minded not to touch the white finger-tips.

"You ain't afraid?"

The golden head shook ever so slightly; again the big hand went toward

the small one, then suddenly dropped.

"Right this way m'lord--m'lady!" The face of the convict abruptly

changed; fury, hatred, a blind instinct to kill were unmistakably

revealed in his countenance as he heard the bland voice of the police

agent. From the child's hand the gold disk fell and rolled under the

wooden slab that served as a couch in the cell.

"Jocelyn!" The expostulating tones of the governor's wife preceded the

approach of the party. "What are you doing, child, so near the bars?"

"Good heavens!" Mr. Gillett seized the girl's arm and abruptly drew her

away. "My dear little lady!" he said. "Really you don't know the danger

you run. And near that cell of all of them!"

"That cell?" observed Sir Charles. "Then that is--"

"The convict I was telling you about! The 'Pet of 'Frisco.' The 'Pride

of Golden Gate.'"

* * * * *

CHAPTER II

A MESSAGE TO THE ADMIRALTY

The following night, Captain Macpherson in his cabin, rolled up

carefully the chart he had been scanning, deposited it in a copper

cylinder and drew from his pocket a small pipe. As he filled and lighted

it, exhaling the smoke of the black weed and leaning more comfortably

back in his low, swinging chair, the expression of his iron countenance

exhibited, in the slightest degree, that solace which comes from the

nicotine. Occasionally, however, he would hold his pipe away from his

mouth, to pause and listen. The weather had turned nasty again; above,

the wind sounded loudly. Now it descended on the ship like a

fierce-scolding virago, then rushed on with wild, shrieking dissonance.

The _Lord Nelson_ minded not, but continued steadily on her way.

Her captain emptied his pipe, glanced toward his bunk and started to

take off his coat. Human nature has its limit; he had passed many

sleepless nights and now felt entitled to a brief respite, especially as

the chart showed neither reef nor rock anywhere in the neighborhood. But

he had only one arm out of the garment when something happened that

caused him to change his mind; abruptly hurled to the other end of the

cabin, he found himself lying, half-stunned, on the floor. A hubbub of

noises filled the air, snappings, crashings, the rending of woodwork.

Captain Macpherson staggered to his feet, and, swaying like a drunken

man, stood a few moments holding his hand to his brow. Then his fist

clenched and he shook it at the cylinder that had fallen from the table.

"Ye viperous, lying thing!" he cried, and ran from the cabin to the

deck.

A single glance told all: two of the ship's giant spars had gone by the

board; entangled in her own wreckage, the vessel thumped and pounded

with ominous violence against some sunken reef. The full scope of the

plight of the once noble ship was plainly made manifest. Though thick

streams of scud sped across the sky, the southern moon at the moment

looked down between two dark rivulets, and cast its silvery glow like a

lime-light, over the spectacle. Captain Macpherson groaned.

"Mr. O'Brien!" he called loudly.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"How long do you give her?"

"Half an hour, sir."

The master shook his head. "She'll nae last that long." And holding to a

stanchion, he seemed like a man in a dream.

"Any orders, sir?" asked the chief mate.

Captain Macpherson recovered himself; his tone became once more quick

and incisive. "Ye're right; I'm gone daffy. We'll get this business over

in a decorous and decent manner. And, Mr. O'Brien--lest I have nae time

to speak of it later--should ye get ashore, and ever find yourself in

the neighborhood o' Piccadilly, be so gude as to drop into the admiralty

office and say Captain Macpherson sends his compliments, and--to the

diel with their charts!"

"I'll not forget, sir!" A number of orders followed.

As the chief mate disappeared to execute the commands he had received,

the harsh noises of the breaking ship, the seething of the sea about

her, the flapping of canvas, like helpless broken wings, was

supplemented by a babel of new and terrifying sounds, the screaming and

cursing of the convicts below, their blasphemous shrieking to be let

out! To this turmoil and uproar were added the frantic appeals and

inquiries of the passengers who, more or less dressed, had hurried to

the deck and who were now speaking to the master of the ill-starred

vessel. He answered them briefly: what could be done, would be done.

"It's a question of the boats, I suppose?" Sir Charles, one of the

calmest of the ship's cabin party, asked quickly.

"In ten minutes they'll be ready for the launching with nae lack of

water and provision. Get plenty of wraps and greatcoats. It'll be a bit

disagreeable, nae doubt, out yon in the wee craft!"

"Wee craft!" The voice of the governor's lady--she was clinging to her

husband's arm--rose shrilly. "You surely are not going to send us out

there in one of these miserable cockleshells?"

"M'love!" Sir Charles expostulated mildly drawing her closer as he

spoke, "it's the only chance, and--" Then to the captain

half-apologetically--"She'll meet it with me, as she has met danger

before, in the bush, like a true English-woman! But what," indicating

the convicts' deck, "what about them? It seems inhuman, yet if they were

let out--"

"They must not be!" Lord Ronsdale's metallic voice interposed quickly.

"I call upon you, Captain Macpherson, in the name of the women and

children--"

"I've thought about that," said Captain Macpherson shortly, and turned

to his task.

The boat was soon overhauled, the lockers and water-butt were filled,

and the passengers, one by one, set into it. On the whole, at that

moment for leaving the ship, their conduct left little room for

criticism; one or two of the women who had appeared on the verge of

hysterics now restrained audible manifestation of emotion. Sir Charles

proved a monument of helpfulness; assisted in placing the women here and

there, and extended a helpful hand to Lord Ronsdale, who had become

somewhat dazed and inert. Total darkness added to the difficulties of

their task, for the moon which until then had shone with much luster now

went behind a curtain of cloud. But Captain Macpherson coolly called out

by name the men to handle the life-boat, and, with no evidence of

disorder, they crowded in, none too soon! As the boat with its human

freight hung in readiness for the lowering, the remaining spar of the

_Lord Nelson_ fell with a mighty crash.

"Remember the name of your ship, lads!" Captain Macpherson's voice

seemed to anticipate a movement of panic among the seamen on deck; if

there had been any intention to "rush" the already well-loaded boat, it

was stayed. "Mr. Gillett, I'll be troubling ye for the keys to the

convicts' deck. Mr. O'Brien, get in and take charge. Steer southeast

with a bit of rag; it's your best chance to get picked up. Hold near the

ship until the other boat with the crew can come alongside. It's as well

to keep company. Are the lines clear? Let her go."

The boat was lowered and at the right moment touched a receding wave.

Captain Macpherson waited until the chief officer called out that they

were safely away, then gave his last order:

"And now, lads, ye can be lookin' to yourselves!"

They did; the master turned and with some difficulty made his way toward

the convicts' cells. Her decks soon deserted, the ship, like a living,

writhing thing, seemed to struggle and groan, as if every timber were

crying out in vain protest against the tragic consummation. But only an

irrevocable voice answered, that of the mocking sea beating harder, the

cruel sea, spotted here and there with black patches between which

splashes of light revealed the wild waves throwing high their curd in

the cold, argent glimmer. One of these illuminating dashes, as if in a

spirit of irony, moved toward the ship, almost enveloped it and showed

suddenly a number of mad, leaping human figures issuing with horrible

cries from one of the hatches.

"The life rafts! Old man said the boats were gone."

"Rafts good enough for the likes of us, eh? Well, he's paid for keeping

us down so long. Blime if I don't think Slick Sam killed him."

"The rafts!" Shrieking, calling down maledictions on the captain, they

ran about, when suddenly an angry black wave swept the deck; a few went

overboard with the hissing crest; several were hurled against the

bulwarks, limp, lifeless things, swirled back and forth. One of their

number, a big fellow of unusual strength, was shot toward the open

companionway leading to the main cabin; as he plunged down, he clutched

at and caught the railing. Considerably shaken, dripping with water, he

pulled himself together, and, raising a face, sodden and fierce, like a

beast brought to bay, he looked around him. The light of one or two

swinging lamps that had not yet been shattered revealed dimly the

surroundings, the dark leather upholstering, the little tables.

Uncertainly the convict paused; then suddenly his eyes brightened; the

lustful anticipation of the drunkard who had long been denied shone from

his gaze as it rested on a sideboard across the cabin.

"Bottles!" he said, steadying himself. "Rum! Well, I guess there ain't

much chance for any of us, and a man's a fool to go to hell thirsty!" He

had started toward the sideboard with its bright gleaming ware and its

divers and sundry receptacles of spirits and liqueurs, when suddenly his

look changed, and his jaw fell.

"What the--" A flow of choice Billingsgate, mingled with the sailor's

equally eloquent Golden-Gate, completed the sentence. The convict stood

stock-still.

From the door of a state-room at the far end of the cabin a figure

appeared. A great shawl draped the small form; the golden hair, a flurry

of tangles, floated around it. Clinging to a brass rail that ran along

the side of the cabin, she approached, her eyes all alight as if well

satisfied with something. Amazed beyond power of action, the man

continued to gaze at her, at the tiny feet in the little pink slippers,

at something she carried. "By the great horn spoon, the Christmas doll!"

he muttered hoarsely. Then forgetting his purpose, the bottles, he

lurched quickly toward her.

"Wat you doin' here?" he demanded.

"I slipped out," said the child, holding the rail tighter, as perforce

she paused to answer. "I thought it would take only a moment."

"Slipped out?" he repeated.

"Of the life-boat, I mean. It was dark and they didn't see me. I just

happened to think, and I had to do it. If I'd told them, they mightn't

have let me. It would have been very wicked if I'd gone away and

forgotten--don't you think so? And now I'm going back! Only I am afraid

I've been longer than I thought I would be. The door of my state-room

seemed to stick, and I was a few minutes getting it open."

Beneath disheveled masses of thick dark hair, the brutish face continued

to study the fairylike one; for the instant words seemed to fail him.

"Do ye mean," he observed, "you come back here for that measly

dicky-bird?"

"It isn't 'measly' and it isn't a 'dicky-bird!'" she answered

indignantly. "And I'll thank you not to call it that. It's a love-bird,

and its name is Dearie!"

"'Dearie'! Ho! Ho!" The ship reeled at a dangerous angle, but the

convict appeared not to notice; his voice rose in harsh, irresistible

rough merriment. "'Dearie'! And she thanks me not to call it names! It!

No bigger'n my thumb! Ho! Ho!" His laughter, strange at such a moment,

died abruptly. "Do you know what you've gone and done on account of

what's in that cage?" he demanded almost fiercely. "You've got left!"

"Left?" said she blankly, shrinking from him a little. "You don't

mean--oh, I thought I would be only a minute! They haven't really gone,

and--"

The great fingers closed on her arm. "They've gone and the crew's gone!

Both boats are gone!"

"Oh!" The big blue eyes widened on him; an inkling of her plight seemed

to come over her; her lips trembled, but she held herself bravely. "You

mean--we must drown?"

The thunder of seas breaking on the deck answered; a cascade of water

dashed down the companionway and swept round them. The man bent toward

the child. "Look a' that! Now ain't ye sorry ye come back?"

"I couldn't leave it to drown!" passionately--"couldn't!--couldn't!"

"Blow me, she's game!" With difficulty he maintained his equilibrium.

"See here: maybe there's a chance, if any of them's left to help with

the raft. But we've got to git out o' this!"

He passed his hand through her arm, awaited a favorable moment, and

then, making a dash for the stairs, drew her, as best he might, to the

deck. At the head of the companionway, the wind smote them fiercely with

sheets of foam, but his strength stood him in good stead, and bracing

himself hard, the man managed to maintain his stand; holding the child

close to him, he sheltered her somewhat from the full force of the

storm. As he cast his glance over the deck, an oath burst from his lips;

the convicts had succeeded in launching one of the rafts and leaving the

ship by means of it, or else had been carried away by the seas. Of

living man, he caught no sight; only a single one of the dead yet

remained, sliding about on the slippery planks with the movement of the

ship; now to leeward, now rushing in a contrary direction, as if some

grotesque spirit of life yet animated the dark, shapeless form.

From wave-washed decks the man's glance turned to the sea; suddenly he

started; his eyes straining, he stared hard. "Maybe they've missed you.

One of the ship's boats seems headin' this way!"

Her gaze followed his; at intervals through driving spray a small craft

could be discerned, not far distant, now riding high on a crest, now

vanishing in a black furrow.

"Are they coming back to save us?" asked the child.

The convict did not answer. Could the boat make the ship, could it hope

to, in that sea? It was easier getting away than getting back. Besides,

the opportunity for a desperate, heroic attempt to come alongside was

not to be given her, for scarcely had they caught sight of her, when the

stern of the _Lord Nelson_, now filled with water from the inflow at the

bow, began to settle more rapidly. Then came a frightful wrenching and

the vessel seemed to break in two.

"Put yer arms round my neck," said the man, stooping.

She put one of them around; with the other held up the cage. He opened

the door of the wickerwork prison and a tiny thing flew out. Then he

straightened. Both arms were around him now.

"'Fraid?" he whispered hoarsely.

The child shook her head.

An instant he waited, then launched himself forward. Buffeted hither and

thither, he made a fierce fight for the rail, reached it, and leaped far

out into the seething waters.

* * * * *

CHAPTER III

AN UNAPPRECIATED BOUNTY

In the prime of his belligerent career the Pet of 'Frisco had undergone

many fierce contests and withstood some terrible punishments, but never

had he undertaken a task calling for greater courage and power of

endurance than the one he had this night voluntarily assumed. Dashed

about by the seas, he yet managed to keep to the surface; minutes seemed

to lengthen into eternity; many times he called out loudly. The arms

about his neck relaxed, but he held the child to him. Not for an instant

did the temptation come to him to release her that he might the more

surely save himself. Overwhelmed again and again by the waves, each time

he emerged with her tight against his breast; half-strangled, he

continued to fight on. But at length even his dogged obstinacy and

determination began to flag; he felt his strength going, when raising

his eyes he saw one of the small craft from the lost vessel bearing

directly down upon him.

The sight inspired new energy and effort; nearer, nearer, she drew; now

she was but a few yards away. Then suddenly the sheet of the life-boat

went out and the little sail fluttered like a mad thing, while the men

bent with might and main over their ash handles in the endeavor to obey

the commands of the chief mate in the stern. But despite skill and

strength she was not easy to steer; once she nearly capsized; then eager

hands reached over the side. The convict held up the child; a voice--the

police agent's--called out that they "had her"; and then the mate broke

in with harsh, warning yells.

"Pull port!--quick!--or we're over!" And at once the outreaching arms

returned quickly to their task; as the child was drawn in, oars dragged

and tugged; the life-boat came slowly about, shipping several barrels of

water. At the same time some one made the loosened sheet taut, the

canvas caught the gust and the craft gained sufficient headway to enable

her to run over, and not be run down by the seas. As she careened and

plunged, racing down a frothing dark billow, the convict, relieved of

his burden, clung to the lower gunwale. By a desperate effort he drew

himself up, when a face vaguely remembered--as part of a bad

dream--looked into his, with a dash of surprise.

"Eh?--Gimme a hand--"

The asked-for hand swept suddenly under the one grasping the side of the

boat, and shot up sharply. In the darkness and confusion no one saw the

act. The convict disappeared, but his half-articulate curses followed.

"The fellow's let go," muttered Lord Ronsdale with a shiver.

At the steering oar the chief mate, hearing the cries of the man, cast a

swift glance over his shoulder and hesitated. To bring the boat,

half-filled with water, around now, meant inevitable disaster; one

experiment of the sort had well-nigh ended in their all being drowned.

He knew he was personally responsible for the lives in his charge; and

with but an instant in which to decide, he declined to repeat the risk.

"He's probably gone by this time, anyhow," he told himself, and drove

on.

The convict, however, was not yet quite "gone"; as the boat receded

rapidly from view, becoming smaller and smaller, he continued

mechanically to use his arms. But he had as little heart as little

strength to go on with the uneven contest.

"He's done me! done me!" he repeated to himself. "And I ain't never

goin' to git a chance to fix him," he thought, and looked despairingly

at the sky. The dark rushing clouds looked like black demons; the stars

they uncovered were bright gleaming dagger points. "Ain't never!--the

slob!" And with a flood of almost sobbing invective he let himself go.

But as the waters closed over him and he sank, his hand, reaching

blindly out to grip in imagination the foe, touched something

round--like a serpent, or an eel. His fingers closed about it--it proved

to be a line; he drew himself along, and to his surprise found himself

again on the surface, and near a great fragment of wreckage. This he

might have discovered earlier, but for the anger and hatred that had

blinded him to all save the realization of his inability to wreak

vengeance. Now, though he managed to reach the edge of the swaying mass

from which the line dangled, he was too weak to draw himself up on the

floating timbers. But he did pass a loop beneath his arms, and, thus

sustained, he waited for his strength to return. Finally, his mind in a

daze, the convict clambered, after repeated efforts, upon the wreckage,

fastened the line about him again, and, falling into a saucer-like

hollow, he sank into unconsciousness.

The night wore on; he did not move. The sea began to subside; still he

lay as if dead. Dawn's rosy lips kissed away the black shadows, touched

tenderly the waves' tops, and at length the man stirred. He tried to sit

up, but at first could not. Finally he raised himself and looked about

him.

No other sign of the vessel than that part of it which had served him so

well could he see; this fragment seemed rent from the bow; yes, there

was the yellow wooden mermaid bobbing to the waves; but not as of old!

Poor cast-out trollop,--now the seas made sport of her who once had held

her head so high!

The convict continued to gaze out over the ocean. Far away, a dark

fringe broke the sea-line--a suggestion of foliage--an island, or a

mirage? Tantalizing, it lay like a shadow, illusive, unattainable as the

"forgotten isles." The man staggered to his feet; his garments were

torn; his hair hung over his brow. He shook his arms at the

island;--this phantasy, this vain, empty vision, he regarded it now as

some savage creature might a bone just out of its reach; from his lips

vile words fell--to be suddenly hushed. Between him and what he gazed

at, along the range of vision, an object on one of the projecting

timbers caught his eye. It was very small, but it gleamed like a spark

sprung from the embers of the dawn.

"The dicky-bird!" His dried lips tried to laugh. "Ef it ain't the

dicky-bird!" The bird looked at him. "Ef that doesn't beat--" but he

could not think what it "beat." The bird cocked its head. "Ain't ye

afeard o' me?" It gave a feeble chirp. "Well, I'm damned!" said the man,

and after this mild expression of his feelings, forgot to curse again.

He even began to eye the island with a vague questioning wonder, as if

asking himself what means might be thought of that would enable him to

reach it; but the problem seemed to be beyond solution. The wreckage,

like a great lump, lay supinely on the surface of the water; he could

not hope to move it.

The day slowly passed; the sun dried his clothes; once or twice the bird

made a sound--a plaintive little tone--and involuntarily the man moved

with care, thinking not to frighten it. But caution in that regard

seemed unnecessary, for the bird appeared very tame and not at all

averse to company.

Toward noon the man began to suffer more acutely from thirst, and

drawing out a sailors' oilskin pouch, one of the few possessions he had

been allowed by the police to retain, he took from it a piece of tobacco

which he began to chew. At the same time he eyed the rest of the

contents--half a ship's biscuit, some matches and a mariner's thimble.

The biscuit he broke, and threw a few crumbs, where the timbers were

dry, near the bird. For a long time it looked at the tiny white morsels;

but finally, conquering shyness, hopped from its perch and tentatively

approached the banquet. Hours went by; the man chewed; the bird pecked.

That night it rained in real, tropical earnest, and he made a water

vessel of his shoe, drank many times, ate a few mouthfuls of biscuit,

and then placed the filled receptacle where he had thrown the crumbs. As

he did so he found himself wondering if the dawn would reveal his little

feathered shipmate or whether it had been swept away by the violence of

the rain. The early shafts of day showed him the bird on its perch; it

had apparently found shelter from the heavy down-pour beneath some

out-jutting timber and seemed no worse for the experience. The man's

second glance was in the direction of the island; what he saw brought a

sudden exclamation to his lips. The land certainly seemed much nearer;

some current was sweeping them toward it slowly, but irresistibly. The

'Frisco Pet swore joyfully; his eyes shone. "I may do him yet!" he

muttered. The bird chirped; he looked at it. "Breakfast, eh?" he said

and tossed a few more crumbs near the shoe.

The second day on the floating bow, he brooded a great deal; the sharper

pangs of hunger assailed him; he grew desperately impatient, the

distance to the island decreased so gradually. A breeze from the coveted

shore fanned his cheek; he fancied it held them back, and fulminated

against it,--the beneficent current,--the providential timbers! A

feeling of blind helplessness followed; the sun, beating down fiercely,

made him light-headed. Hardly knowing what he did, he drew forth the

last little bit of the biscuit, ground it between his teeth and greedily

swallowed it. The act seemed to sober him; he raised his big hand to his

brow and looked at "Dearie"; through the confusion of his thoughts he

felt he had done some despicable thing.

"That weren't fair play, were it now?" he said, looking at the bird.

"That ain't like a pal," he repeated. The bird remained silent; he

fancied reproach in its bead-like eyes, they seemed to bore into him.

"And you such a small chap, too!" he muttered; then he turned his back

on the island, and, with head resting on his elbow, uttered no further

complaint.

That second day on the raft seemed much longer than the first; the

second night of infinitely greater duration than the preceding one; but

dawn revealed the island very near, so near, indeed, the bird made up

its mind to try to reach it. It looked at the man for a moment and then

flew away. Long he watched it, a little dark spot--now that he could no

longer see the ruby on its breast! At length it was lost to sight;

swallowed up by the green blur.

The small winged creature gone, the man missed it. "'Peared like 'twas

glad to leave such a pal!" he thought regretfully. The floating timbers

became well-nigh intolerable; he kept asking himself if he could swim to

land, but, knowing his weakness from long fasting, he curbed his

impatience. His eyes grew tired with staring at the longed-for spot; he

suffered the torments of Tantalus, and finally could endure them no

longer. So making his clothes into a bundle, he tied them around his

neck and slipped into the water.

Half an hour later found him, prone and exhausted, on the yellow sands.

Near-by, tall and stately trees nodded at him; close at hand a great

crab regarded him with reflective interest, hesitating between prudence

and carnivorous desire. Gluttonous inclination to sample the goods the

gods had provided prevailed over caution; it moved quickly forward, when

what it had considered only an unexpected and welcome _pièce de

résistance_ abruptly got up. The tables were turned; that which came to

dine was dined upon; a crushing blow demonstrated the law of the

survival of the fittest; the weaker adorned the board. The man tore it

to bits, ate it like the famished animal he was. More freely his blood

coursed; he looked around; saw other creatures and laughed. There seemed

little occasion for any one to starve here; the isle, a beautiful

emerald on the breast of the sea, became a fair battle-ground; all he

needed was a club and he soon found that.

For a week nothing of moment interrupted the even tenor of his

existence; he led the life of a savage and found it to his liking,

pounced upon turtles and cooked them, kept his fire going because he had

but few matches. Lying before the blaze at night, near a little spring,

he told himself that this was better than being behind prison bars;

true, he lacked company, but he had known worse solitude--the

"solitary." In it, he had lain on the hard stones; here he had soft

moss. If only he could reach out and touch those he hated--the unknown

enemy whose face had bent over him a fleeting instant ere he had struck

his hand from the gunwale; Dandy Joe and the police agent--if only they,

too, were here, the place would have been world enough for him. But

then, he felt, the time for the reckoning must come,--it lay somewhere

in the certain future. Unconscious fatalist, he nourished the conviction

as he nourished the coals of his fire.

Other means to enhance his physical comfort chance afforded him; the

fleshpots were supplemented with a beverage, stronger and more welcome

than that which bubbled and trickled so musically at his feet. One day a

box was washed ashore; a message from the civilized centers to the field

of primitive man! On its cover were the words, "Via sailing vessel,

_Lord Nelson_" followed by the address. The convict pried the boards

apart and gave a shout. Rum!--and plenty of it!--bottle after bottle, in

an overcoat of straw, nestling lovingly one upon another. The man licked

his lips; knocked off a neck, drank deep, and then, stopping many times,

carried his treasure to his bower.

Day after day turned its page, merged into the past; sometimes,

perforce, he got up, and, not a pleasant thing to look at, staggered to

the beach with his club. There he would slay some crawling thing from

the sea, return with his prize to mingle eating with drinking, until

sated with both, he would fall back unconscious among the flowers. But

the prolonged indulgence began to have a marked effect on his store;

bottle after bottle was tossed off; the empty shells flung aside to the

daisies. At length the day came when only two bottles remained in the

case, one full pair, sole survivors of the lot. The man took them out,

set them up and regarded them; a sense of impending disaster, of

imminent tragedy, shivered through his dulled consciousness. He reached

for the bottles and fondled them, started to knock the head from one and

put it down. Resisting desire, he told himself he would have a look at

the beach; the ocean had generously cast one box of well-primed bottles

at his feet; perhaps it would repeat its hospitable action and make him

once more the recipient of its bounty. The thought buoyed him to the

shore; the sea lapped the sand with Lydian whispers, and there, beyond

the edge of the soft singing ripples, he saw something that made him rub

his dazed eyes.

A box!--a big box!--a box as tall as he was! No paltry dozen or two this

time! Perhaps there was whisky, too; and the bubbling stuff the

long-necked lords had sometimes pressed upon him in the past, when he

had "ousted" his man and put quids in their pockets; or some of that

fiery _vin_--something he had once indulged in with a Johnny Frenchman

before he took to the tunnel, when he had been free to swagger through

old Leicester Square. Anyhow, he would soon find out, and, rushing

through the water, he laid a proprietary hand on the box. But to his

disappointment, he could not move it; strong though he was, its great

weight defied him. Ingenuity came to his aid, for, after a moment's

pondering, he left the box to the sea and made his way back to the

forest. When he returned he bore on his shoulder a straight, stout limb

which he had wrenched from a tree, and in his hand he carried a great

stone. The former became a lever, the latter, a fulcrum; and, by patient

exercise of one of the simple principles of physics, he managed, at

length, to transfer the large box from ocean to land.

To break it open was his next problem, and no easy one, for the boards

were thick, the nails many and formidable. A long time he battered and

battered in vain with his rocks, but, after an hour or so, he succeeded

in splintering his way through the tough pine. His exertions did not end

here; an inner sheeting of tin caused him to frown; more furiously he

attacked this with sharp bits of coral, cutting and bruising his hands.

Unmindful of pain, he was enabled at length to pull back a portion of

the protecting metal and reveal the contents of the packing-case. In his

befuddled, half-crazed condition, he had thought only of bottles; what

he found proved a different sort of merchandise.

Maddened, he tossed and scattered the contents of the box on the beach.

The ocean had deceived him, laughed at him, cheated him. He turned from

the shore unsteadily, walked back to his camp and knocked the neck from

one of the two remaining bottles. A few hours later, sodden, sottish, he

lay without motion, face to the sky. And as he breathed thickly, one

bleeding hand still holding the empty bottle, a bird from an overhanging

branch looked down upon him: a tiny bird, little bigger than his thumb,

that carried a bright, beautiful spot of red on its breast, cocked its

head questioningly.

* * * * *

PART TWO

CHAPTER I

THE WHEELS OF JUSTICE

London, in the spring! Sunshine; the Thames agleam with silver ripples,

singing as it flows; red sails! Joyous London that has emerged from fogs

and basks beneath blue skies! Thoroughfares that give forth a glad hum;

wheels singing, too; whips that crack in sprightly arpeggios. On the

streets, people, not shadows, who walk with a swing; who really seem to

breathe and not slink uncannily by! Eyes that regard you with human

expression; faces that seem capable of emotion; figures adorned in

keeping with the bright realities of the moment. London; old London

young again; grimy, repulsive London now bright, shimmering, beautiful!

In such a London, on such a day, about ten o'clock in the morning, three

persons whose appearance distinguished them from the ordinary

passers-by, turned into a narrow thoroughfare not far from the Strand.

"Quite worth while going to hear John Steele conduct for his client, I

assure you!" observed one, a tall, military-looking man, who walked with

a slight limp and carried a cane. "He's a new man, but he's making his

mark. When he asked to be admitted to the English bar, he surprised even

his examiners. His summing-up in the Doughertie murder case was, I heard

his lordship remark, one of the most masterly efforts he ever listened

to. Just tore the circumstantial evidence to pieces and freed his man!

Besides his profession at the bar, he is an unusually gifted

criminologist; takes a strong personal interest in the lowest riffraff;

is writing a book, I understand--one of the kind that will throw a new

light on the subject."

"Just what is a criminologist?" The speaker, a girl of about eighteen,

turned as she lightly asked the question, to glance over her shoulder

toward several persons who followed them.

"One who seeks to apply to the criminal the methods of psychology,

psychiatry and anthropology," he answered with jesting impressiveness.

She laughed. "But you said this Mr. Steele comes from our part of the

world, did you not, Captain Forsythe?"

"So I understand, Miss Jocelyn. Not much of a person to talk about

himself, don't you know,"--tentatively stroking an imposing pair of

mustaches, tinged with gray,--"but he has mentioned, I believe, living

in New Zealand; or was it Australia?"

"Australia?" the cold, metallic tones of the third person, a man of

about three-and-thirty, inquired. "Most likely the other place, or we

should have heard--"

"True, Lord Ronsdale!" said the other man, pausing before a great door.

"But here we are."

"'All ye who enter, etc'" laughed the girl.

"Not if one comes just to 'do' it, you know," was the protesting answer.

"Quite the thing to take in the criminal courts!"

"When one is only a sort of country cousin, a colonial, just come to

town!" she added, waving a small, daintily-gloved hand to the little

group of friends who now approached and joined them. "Captain Forsythe

is trying to persuade me it is a legitimate part of our slumming plan to

take in murder trials, uncle," she said lightly, addressing the foremost

of the new-comers. "Just because it's a fad of his! Speaking of this

acquaintance or friend of yours, Mr. Steele,--you are something of a

criminologist, too, are you not, Captain Forsythe?"

"Well, every man should have a hobby," returned that individual, "and,

although I don't aspire to the long name you call me, I confess to a

slight amateur interest."

Lord Ronsdale shrugged his shoulders, as to say, every one to his taste;

but the girl laughed.

"Slight?" she repeated. "Would you believe it, aunt"--to a portly lady

among those who had approached--"he never misses a murder trial! I

believe he likes to watch the poor fellows fighting for their lives, to

study their faces, their expressions when they're being sentenced,

perhaps, to one of those horrible convict ships!"

"Don't speak of them, my dear Jocelyn!" returned that worthy person,

with a shudder. "When I think of the _Lord Nelson_, and that awful

night--"

"You were three days in an open boat before being sighted and picked up,

I believe, Lady Wray?" observed Captain Forsythe.

"Three days? Years!" returned the governor's wife. "At least, they

seemed so to me! I thought every moment would be our last and goodness

knows why it wasn't! How we managed to survive it--"

"Narrow squeak, certainly!" said Lord Ronsdale, his lids lowering

slightly. "But all's well that ends well, and--"

"Every one behaved splendidly," interposed Sir Charles. "You," gazing

contemplatively at the girl, "were but a child then, Jocelyn."

She did not answer; the beautiful face had abruptly changed; all

laughter had gone from the clear blue eyes.

"She is thinking of the convict who saved her!" observed Sir Charles in

an explanatory tone to Captain Forsythe. "Quite an interesting episode,

'pon honor! Tell you about it later. Never saw anything finer, or

better. And the amazing part of it is, the fellow looked like a brute,

had the low, ignorant face of an ex-bruiser. He'd gone to the bad, taken

to drink, and committed I don't know how many crimes! Yet that man, the

lowest of the low--"

"You must not speak of him that way!" The girl's hands were clasped; the

slender, shapely figure was very straight. Her beautiful blue eyes, full

of varying lights, flashed, then became dimmed; a suspicion of mist

blurred the long, sweeping lashes. "He had a big, noble spark in his

soul. And I think of him many, many times!" she repeated, the sweet, gay

lips trembling sensitively. "Brave fellow! Brave fellow!" The words fell

in a whisper.

"Fortunate fellow, I should say, to be so remembered by you, Miss

Jocelyn!" interposed Captain Forsythe. "Eh, Ronsdale?"

"Fortunate, indeed!" the thin lips replied stiffly.

"Pity he should have been drowned though!" Captain Forsythe went on. "He

would, I am sure, have made a most interesting study in contrasts!"

She, however, seemed not to hear either compliment--or comment, but

stood for a moment as in a reverie. "I am almost sorry I was persuaded

to come here to-day," she said at length, thoughtfully. "I don't believe

I shall like courts, or," she added, "find them amusing!"

"Nonsense!" Sir Charles laughed. "I have heard his lordship has a pretty

sense of humor, and never fails, when opportunity offers, to indulge

it."

"Even when sentencing people?"

"Well; there is no need of turning the proceedings into a funeral."

"I don't believe I should laugh at his wit," said the girl. "And is this

Mr. John Steele witty, too?"

"Oh, no! Anything irrelevant from any one else wouldn't be allowed by

his lordship."

Here Ronsdale lifted his hat. "May happen back this way," he observed.

"That is," looking at Jocelyn Wray, "if you don't object?"

"I? Not at all! Of course, it would bore you--a trial! You are so easily

bored. Is it the club?"

"No; another engagement. Thank you so much for permission to return for

you--very kind. Hope you will find it amusing. Good morning!" And Lord

Ronsdale vanished down the narrow way.

The others of the party entered the court room and were shown to the

seats that Captain Forsythe had taken particular pains to reserve for

them. The case, evidently an interesting one to judge from the number of

people present, was in progress as they quietly settled down in their

chairs at the back. From the vantage point of a slight eminence they

found themselves afforded an excellent and unimpaired view of his

lordship, the jury, prisoner, witness and barristers. Presumably the

case had reached an acute stage, for even the judge appeared slightly

mindful of what was going on, and allowed his glance to stray toward the

witness. The latter, a little man, in cheap attire flashily debonnaire

if the worse for long service, seemed to experience difficulty in

speaking, to hesitate before his words, and, when he did answer, to

betray in his tone no great amount of confidence. He looked weary and

somewhat crestfallen, as if his will were being broken down, or

subjected to a severe strain, the truth being ground out of him by some

irresistible process.

"That's John Steele cross-examining now!" Captain Forsythe whispered to

the girl. "And that's Dandy Joe, as he's called, one of the police

spies, cheap race-track man and so on, in the box. He came to the front

in a murder trial quite celebrated in its day, and one I always had my

own little theory about. Not that it matters now!" he added with a sigh.

But the girl was listening to another voice, a clear voice, a quiet

voice, a voice capable of the strongest varying accents. She looked at

the speaker; he held himself with the assurance of one certain of his

ground. His shoulders were straight and broad; he stood like an athlete,

and, when he moved, it was impossible to be unconscious of a certain

physical grace that came from well-trained muscles. He carried his head

high, as if from a habit of thought, of looking up, not down, when he

turned from the pages of the heavy tomes in his study; his face conveyed

an impression of intelligence and intensity; his eyes, dark, deep,

searched fully those they rested on.

He had reached a point in his cross-examination where he had almost

thoroughly discredited this witness for the prosecution, when turning

toward a table to take up a paper, his glance, casually lifting, rested

on the distinguished party in the rear of the room, or rather it rested

on one of them. Against the dark background, the girl's golden hair was

well-calculated to catch the wandering gaze; the flowers in her hat, the

great bunch of violets in her dress added insistent alluring bits of

color in the dim spot where she sat. Erect as a lily stem, she looked

oddly out of place in that large, somber room; there, where the harsh

requiem of bruised and broken lives unceasingly sounded, she seemed like

some presence typical of spring, wafted thither by mistake. The man

continued to regard her. Suddenly he started, and his eyes almost

eagerly searched the lovely, proud face.

His back was turned to the judge, who stirred nervously, but waited a

fraction of a second before he spoke.

"If the cross-examination is finished--" he began.

John Steele wheeled; his face changed; a smile of singular charm

accompanied his answer.

"Your lordship will pardon me; the human mind has its aberrations. At

the moment, by a curious psychological turn, a feature of another

problem seized me; it was like playing two games of chess at once.

Perhaps your honor has experienced the sensation?"

His lordship beamed. "Quite so," he observed unctuously. "I have to

confess that once in a great while, although following a case very

closely, I have found it possible to consider at the same time whether I

would later have port or sherry with my canvasback."

Of course every one smiled; the business of the morning ran on, and John

Steele, at length, concluded his cross-examination. "I think, your

Lordship, the question of the reliability of this man, as a witness, in

this, or--any other case--fully established."

"Any other case?" said his lordship. "We are not trying any other case."

"Not now, your Lordship." John Steele bowed. "I ask your lordship's

indulgence for the"--an instant's ironical light gleamed from the dark

eyes--"superfluity."

"Witness may go," said his lordship bruskly.

Dandy Joe, a good deal damaged in the world's estimation, stepped down;

his erstwhile well-curled mustache of brick-dust hue seemed to droop as

he slunk out of the box; he appeared subdued, almost frightened,--quite

unlike the jaunty little cockney that had stepped so blithely forth to

give his testimony.

The witnesses all heard, John Steele, for the defense, spoke briefly;

but his words were well-chosen, his sentences of classic purity. As the

girl listened, it seemed to her not strange that Captain Forsythe, as

well as others, perhaps, should be drawn hither on occasions when this

man appeared. Straight, direct logic characterized the speech from

beginning to end; only once did a suggestion of sentiment--curt pity for

that gin-besotted thing, the prisoner!--obtrude itself; then it passed

so quickly his lordship forgot to intervene, and the effect remained, a

flash, illuminating, Rembrandt-like!

Time slipped by; the judge looked at his watch, bethought him of a big

silver dish filled with an amber-hued specialty of the Ship and Turtle,

and adjourned court. His address interrupted by the exigencies of the

moment, John Steele began mechanically to gather up his books; his face

that had been marked by the set look of one determined to drive on at

his best with a task, now wore a preoccupied expression. The prisoner

whined a question; Steele did not answer, and some one bustled the man

out. Having brought his volumes together in a little pile, Steele

absently separated them again; at the same time Sir Charles and his

party walked toward the bench. They were met by his lordship and

cordially greeted.

"A privilege, Sir Charles, to meet one we have heard of so often, in the

antipodes."

"Thank you. His lordship, Judge Beeson, m'dear, whose decisions--"

"Allow me to congratulate you, sir!" The enthusiastic voice was that of

Captain Forsythe, addressing John Steele. "Your cross-examination was

masterly; had you been in a certain other case, years ago, when the

evidence of that very person on the stand to-day--in the main--convicted

a man of murder, I fancy the result then would have been different!"

John Steele seemed not to hear; his eyes were turned toward the

beautiful girl. She was standing quite close to him now; he could detect

the fragrance of the violets she wore, a fresh sweet smell so welcome in

that close, musty atmosphere.

"My niece, your Lordship, Miss Wray."

Steele saw her bow and heard her speak to that august court personage;

then as the latter, after further brief talk, hurried away--

"Sir Charles, let me present to you Mr. Steele," said Captain Forsythe.

"Lady Wray--"

"Happy to know you, sir," said the governor heartily.

"Miss Jocelyn Wray," added the military man, "who," with a laugh,

"experienced some doubts about a visit of this kind being conducive to

pleasure!"

John Steele took the small gloved hand she gave him; her eyes were very

bright.

"I enjoyed--I don't mean that--I am so glad I came," said the girl. "And

heard you!" she added.

He thanked her in a low tone, looking at her hand as he dropped it.

"You,--you are making England your home?" His voice was singularly

hesitating!

"Yes." She looked at him a little surprised. "At least, for the present!

But how--" she broke off. "I suppose, though, you could tell by my

accent. I've lived nearly all my life in Australia, and--"

Sir Charles, interrupting, reminded them of an appointment; the party

turned. A slender figure inclined itself very slightly toward John

Steele; a voice wished him good morning. The man stood with his hands on

his books; it did not occur to him to accompany her to the door.

Suddenly he looked over his shoulder; at the threshold, she, too, had

turned her head. An instant their glances met; the next, she was gone.

* * * * *