eddened
by exposure, the hair ragged and uncombed. Even to my view there
remained scarcely a familiar feature--the lack of razor and shears, the
exposure to sun and water, the days of sickness and neglect, had all
helped to transform me into a totally different-appearing person from
what I had formerly been; the officer and gentleman had, by the mystery
of environment, been changed into the outward semblance of a river
roustabout. Nor was this all. The new character was emphasized by the
clothes I wore--far too large to fit, also the texture and color, not
to mention the dirt and grease, speaking loudly of a rough life, and
the vicissitudes of poverty. The metamorphosis was complete; so
complete that I laughed aloud, assured by that one glance that the
gambler, confident that I was dead, would never by any possibility
recognize me in this guise, or while habilitated in such nondescript
garments. Unless some happening should expose me, some occurrence
arouse suspicion, I felt convinced of my ability to even slouch past
him on deck unobserved, and unrecognized.

But the girl--Rene? And so this was how I had appeared to her. No
wonder she questioned me; doubted my first explanation. The thought
that my personal appearance was so disreputable had never occurred to
me before, and even then, staring into that glass, I could scarcely
bring myself to acknowledge the truth. I had first approached her
confident that my appearance as a gentleman would awaken her trust; I
had felt myself to be a most presentable young man in whom she must
instantly repose faith. Yet, this had not been true at all--instead I
came to her with the outward bearing of a worthless vagabond, a
stubble-bearded outcast. And yet she had trusted me; would trust me
again. More; she could never be deceived, or fail to recognize my
presence aboard if she had the freedom of the deck. Kirby might be
deceived, but not Rene. Still she was a woman of quick wit; once
recovered from her first surprise at thus encountering me, neither by
word or look would she ever betray her knowledge. If I could only plan
to meet with her first alone, the peril of her recognition would not be
extreme.

But I must also figure upon the other woman. Who could she be? Not
Eloise Beaucaire surely, for the mate had only mentioned one of the two
as being sufficiently white to be noticeable. That one would surely be
Rene, and it was scarcely probable that Eloise, with no d