here Maurice Gordon of
Loango could dwell under his own name. She felt that they were all
living on a slumbering volcano. It was one of those rare cases where
human life seems no longer sacred; and this refined, educated, gentle
English lady found herself face to face with the fact that Victor
Durnovo's life would be cheap at the price of her own.

At this moment Providence, with the wisdom of which we sometimes catch
a glimpse, laid another trouble upon her shoulders. While she was half
distracted with the thought of her brother's danger, the news was put
into her hand by the grinning Nala that Jack Meredith--the man she
openly in her own heart loved--was in an even greater strait.

Here, at all events, was a peril that could be met, however heavy might
be the odds. Her own danger, the horror of Maurice's crime, the hatred
for Victor Durnovo, were all swallowed up in the sudden call to help
Jack Meredith. And Jocelyn found at least a saving excitement in working
night and day for the rescue of the man who was to be Millicent Chyne's
husband.

Maurice aided her loyally. His influence with the natives was great; his
knowledge of the country second only to Durnovo's. During the fortnight
that elapsed between the despatch of the telegram to Guy Oscard and the
arrival of that resourceful individual at Loango, the whole coast was
astir with preparation and excitement. Thus it came about that Guy
Oscard found a little army awaiting him, and to Maurice Gordon was the
credit given. Victor Durnovo simply kept out of the way. The news
that an expedition was being got together to go to the relief of Jack
Meredith never reached him in his retreat. But after a fortnight spent
in idleness in the neighbouring interior, he could stand the suspense no
longer, and came down into the town, to be pounced upon at once by Guy
Oscard.

As he stood on the beach near to Oscard, watching the embarkation of the
men, his feelings were decidedly mixed. There was an immense relief from
the anxiety of the last few weeks. He had stood on the verge of many
crimes, and had been forcibly dragged back therefrom by the strong
arm of Guy Oscard. It had been Victor Durnovo's intention not only to
abandon Jack Meredith to his certain fate, but to appropriate to his own
use the consignment of Simiacine, valued at sixty thousand pounds, which
he had brought down to the coast. The end of it all was, of course, the
possession of Jocelyn Gordon. The programme