ttle, but he had no faith in the theory of smugglers. He
felt in some vague and unsatisfactory way a sense of discomfort and
anxiety over his captain's late proceedings, and this stealthy descent
seemed fraught with ill omen.

Once down in the flats, their footsteps made no noise in the yielding
sand, and all was silence save for the plash of the waters along the
shores. Far down the river were the reflections of one or two twinkling
lights, and close under the bank in the slack-water a few stars were
peeping at their own images, but no boat was there, and the captain led
still farther to a little copse of willow, and there, in the shadows,
sure enough, was a row-boat, with a little lantern dimly burning, half
hidden in the stern.

Not only that, but as they halted at the edge of the willows the captain
put forth a warning hand and cautioned silence. No need. Rollins's
straining eyes were already fixed on two figures that were standing in
the shadows not ten feet away,--one that of a tall, slender man, the
other a young girl. It was a moment before Rollins could recognize
either; but in that moment the girl had turned suddenly, had thrown her
arms about the neck of the tall young man, and, with her head pillowed
on his breast, was gazing up in his face.

"Kiss me once more, Howard. Then I must go," they heard her whisper.

Rollins seized his captain's sleeve, and strove, sick at heart, to pull
him back; but Chester stoutly stood his ground. In the few seconds more
that they remained they saw his arms more closely enfold her. They saw
her turn at the brink, and, in an utter abandonment of rapturous,
passionate love, throw her arms again about his neck and stand on tiptoe
to reach his face with her warm lips. They could not fail to hear the
caressing tone of her every word, or to mark his receptive but gloomy
silence. They could not mistake the voice,--the form, shadowy though it
was. The girl was Nina Beaubien, and the man, beyond question, Howard
Jerrold. They saw him hand her into the light skiff and hurriedly kiss
her good-night. Once again, as though she could not leave him, her arms
were thrown about his neck and she clung to him with all her strength;
then the little boat swung slowly out into the stream, the sculls were
shipped, and with practised hand Nina Beaubien pulled forth into the
swirling waters of the river, and the faint light, like slowly-setting
star, floated downward with the sweeping tide and fina