that ring to be taken to him?" she asked, in a louder tone.

"Yes. At once. For his good."

"Are you certain it is for his good? Why can't you. . . ."

She checked herself. That man was hopeless. He would never tell
anything and there was no means of compelling him. He was invulnerable,
unapproachable. . . . He was dead.

"Just give it to him," mumbled Jorgenson as though pursuing a mere fixed
idea. "Just slip it quietly into his hand. He will understand."

"What is it? Advice, warning, signal for action?"

"It may be anything," uttered Jorgenson, morosely, but as it were in a
mollified tone. "It's meant for his good."

"Oh, if I only could trust that man!" mused Mrs. Travers, half aloud.

Jorgenson's slight noise in the throat might have been taken for an
expression of sympathy. But he remained silent.

"Really, this is most extraordinary!" cried Mrs. Travers, suddenly
aroused. "Why did you come to me? Why should it be my task? Why should
you want me specially to take it to him?"

"I will tell you why," said Jorgenson's blank voice. "It's because there
is no one on board this hulk that can hope to get alive inside that
stockade. This morning you told me yourself that you were ready to
die--for Tom--or with Tom. Well, risk it then. You are the only one that
has half a chance to get through--and Tom, maybe, is waiting."

"The only one," repeated Mrs. Travers with an abrupt movement forward
and an extended hand before which Jorgenson stepped back a pace. "Risk
it! Certainly! Where's that mysterious ring?"

"I have got it in my pocket," said Jorgenson, readily; yet nearly half
a minute elapsed before Mrs. Travers felt the characteristic shape being
pressed into her half-open palm. "Don't let anybody see it," Jorgenson
admonished her in a murmur. "Hide it somewhere about you. Why not hang
it round your neck?"

Mrs. Travers' hand remained firmly closed on the ring. "Yes, that will
do," she murmured, hastily. "I'll be back in a moment. Get everything
ready." With those words she disappeared inside the deckhouse and
presently threads of light appeared in the interstices of the boards.
Mrs. Travers had lighted a candle in there. She was busy hanging that
ring round her neck. She was going. Yes--taking the risk for Tom's sake.

"Nobody can resist that man," Jorgenson muttered to himself with
increasing moroseness. "_I_ couldn't."

IV

Jorgenson, after seeing the canoe leave the ship's side, ceased to live
i