explorers, seamen whose nerves are never
shaken by the white squall of the Levant, or the storm in the Bay of
Biscay, or the tempest round some of the most rugged coasts of
Australia--such men are often turned white-livered by the threat of
assassination--that terrible pestilence which walks abroad at night or
in the dusk, and dogs remorselessly the footsteps of the victim. But
Ericson slept composedly, and his deep, steady breathing seemed to tell
pale-hearted fear it lied.

And other thoughts, too, came up into Hamilton's mind. He had long put
away all wild hopes and dreams of Helena. He had utterly given her up;
he had seen only too clearly which way her love was stretching its
tentacula, and he had long since submitted himself to the knowledge that
they did not stretch themselves out to grapple with the strings of his
heart. He knew that Helena loved the Dictator. He bent to the knowledge;
he was not sorry _now_ any more. But he wondered if the Dictator in his
iron course was sleeping quietly in the front of danger for him which
must mean misery for _her_, and was thinking nothing about her. Surely
he must know, by this time, that she loved him! Surely he must love
her--that bright, gifted, generous, devoted girl? Was she, then,
misprized by Ericson? Was the Dictator's heart so full of his own
political and patriotic schemes and enterprises that he could not spare
a thought, even in his dreams, for the girl who so adored him, and whom
Hamilton had at one time so much adored? Did this stately tree never
give a thought to the beautiful and fresh flower that drank the dew at
its feet?

Suddenly Ericson turned on the bed, and from his sleeping lips came a
murmuring cry--a low-voiced plaint, instinct with infinite love and
yearning and pathos--and the only words then spoken were the words
'Helena, Helena!' And then the question of Hamilton's mind was answered,
and Ericson shook himself free of sleep, and turned on the bed, and sat
up and looked at Hamilton, and was clearly master of the situation.

'I have been sleeping,' he said, in the craftily-qualified tone of the
experienced one who thoroughly understands the difference in a time of
danger between the carefully subdued tone and the penetrating, sibilant
whisper. 'Nothing has happened?'

Hamilton made a gesture of negation.

'It must come soon--if it is to come at all,' Ericson said. 'And it will
come--I know it--I have had a dream.'

'You don't believe in dre