ut to make him pay the penalty.

It was all very well to reason about it, and to say that he ought to be
made to pay the penalty; but that did not make it any less shocking that
she, Charlotte Farnham, should be the one to set the retributive
machinery in motion. Yet she knew she had the thing to do, and so, after
many ineffectual attempts, the letter was written and sealed and
addressed, and she went out to mail it at the clerk's office.

As it chanced, the engines of the steamer were slowing for a landing
when she latched her state-room door, and by the time she had walked the
length of the saloon the office was closed and the clerk had gone below
with his way-bills. It was an added hardship to have to wait, and she
knew well enough that delay would speedily reopen the entire vexed
question of responsibility. But there was nothing else to be done. She
told herself that she could not begin to breathe freely again until the
letter was out of her hands and safely beyond recall.

The doors giving upon the forward saloon-deck were open, and she heard
the harsh voice of the mate exploding in sharp commands as the steamer
lost way and edged slowly up to the river bank. A moment later she was
outside, leaning on the rail and looking down upon the crew grouped
about the inboard end of the uptilted landing-stage. He was there; the
man for whose destiny accident and the conventional sense of duty had
made her responsible; and as she looked she had a fleeting glimpse of
his face.

It was curiously haggard and woe-begone; so sorrowfully changed that for
an instant she almost doubted his identity. The sudden transformation
added fresh questionings, and she began to ask herself thoughtfully
what had brought it about. Had he recognized her and divined her
intention? But if that were the explanation, why had he not made his
escape? Why was he waiting for her to point him out to the officers of
the steamer?

The queries swept her out into a deeper sea of perplexity. What if he
were already repentant? In that event, the result of her dutiful service
to society would doubtless be to drive him back into impenitence and
despair. For a little time she clung desperately to her purpose,
hardening her heart and shutting her ears to the clamant appeal of the
reawakened sentiment of commiseration. Then the man turned slowly and
looked up at her as if the finger of her thought had touched him. There
was no sign of recognition in his eyes; an