st over a volcano. Joan grew
more and more fearful of the disclosures made when Kells met his men
nightly in the cabin. She feared to hear, but she must hear, and even
if she had not felt it necessary to keep informed of events, the
fascination of the game would have impelled her to listen. And gradually
the suspense she suffered augmented into a magnified, though vague,
assurance of catastrophe, of impending doom. She could not shake off
the gloomy presentiment. Something terrible was going to happen. An
experience begun as tragically as hers could only end in a final and
annihilating stroke. Yet hope was unquenchable, and with her fear kept
pace a driving and relentless spirit.

One night at the end of a week of these interviews, when Joan attempted
to resist Jim, to plead with him, lest in his growing boldness he betray
them, she found him a madman.

"I'll pull you right out of this window," he said, roughly, and then
with his hot face pressed against hers tried to accomplish the thing he
threatened.

"Go on--pull me to pieces!" replied Joan, in despair and pain. "I'd be
better off dead! And--you--hurt me--so!"

"Hurt you!" he whispered, hoarsely, as if he had never dreamed of such
possibility. And then suddenly he was remorseful. He begged her to
forgive him. His voice was broken, husky, pleading. His remorse, like
every feeling of his these days, was exaggerated, wild, with that raw
tinge of gold-blood in it. He made so much noise that Joan, more fearful
than ever of discovery, quieted him with difficulty.

"Does Kells see you often--these days?" asked Jim, suddenly.

Joan had dreaded this question, which she had known would inevitably
come. She wanted to lie; she knew she ought to lie; but it was
impossible.

"Every day," she whispered. "Please--Jim--never mind that. Kells
is good--he's all right to me.... And you and I have so little time
together."

"Good!" exclaimed Cleve. Joan felt the leap of his body under her touch.
"Why, if I'd tell you what he sends that gang to do--you'd--you'd kill
him in his sleep."

"Tell me," replied Joan. She had a morbid, irresistible desire to learn.

"No.... And WHAT does Kells do--when he sees you every day?"

"He talks."

"What about?"

"Oh, everything except about what holds him here. He talks to me to
forget himself."

"Does he make love to you?"

Joan maintained silence. What would she do with this changed and
hopeless Jim Cleve?

"Tell me!" Jim's hand