but that her waist
was also in jeopardy. Yet she could not help saying, "Are you sure that
there isn't anything in the way of a young woman that would keep you?"

"Blanche!" said Islington in reproachful horror.

"If gentlemen will roar out their secrets before an open window, with
a young woman lying on a sofa on the veranda, reading a stupid French
novel, they must not be surprised if she gives more attention to them
than her book."

"Then you know all, Blanche?"

"I know," said Blanche, "let's see--I know the partiklar style
of--ahem!--fool you was, and expected no better. Good by." And, gliding
like a lovely and innocent milk snake out of his grasp, she slipped
away.

To the pleasant ripple of waves, the sound of music and light voices,
the yellow midsummer moon again rose over Greyport. It looked upon
formless masses of rock and shrubbery, wide spaces of lawn and beach,
and a shimmering expanse of water. It singled out particular objects,--a
white sail in shore, a crystal globe upon the lawn, and flashed upon
something held between the teeth of a crouching figure scaling the low
wall of Cliffwood Lodge. Then, as a man and woman passed out from under
the shadows of the foliage into the open moonlight of the garden path,
the figure leaped from the wall, and stood erect and waiting in the
shadow.

It was the figure of an old man, with rolling eyes, his trembling hand
grasping a long, keen knife,--a figure more pitiable than pitiless, more
pathetic than terrible. But the next moment the knife was stricken from
his hand, and he struggled in the firm grasp of another figure that
apparently sprang from the wall beside him.

"D--n you, Masterman!" cried the old man, hoarsely; "give me fair play,
and I'll kill you yet!"

"Which my name is Yuba Bill," said Bill, quietly, "and it's time this
d--n fooling was stopped."

The old man glared in Bill's face savagely. "I know you. You're one
of Masterman's friends,--d--n you,--let me go till I cut his heart
out,--let me go! Where is my Mary?--where is my wife?--there she is!
there!--there!--there! Mary!" He would have screamed, but Bill placed
his powerful hand upon his mouth, as he turned in the direction of the
old man's glance. Distinct in the moonlight the figures of Islington and
Blanche, arm in arm, stood out upon the garden path.

"Give me my wife!" muttered the old man hoarsely, between Bill's
fingers. "Where is she?"

A sudden fury passed over Yuba Bill's