e you."

She looked at him with that look that a man need see but once in a
woman's eyes and hold life cheap for its purchase.

"Calvert, I would trust you any place after this journey."

In the unlit gray of dawn, the waters were dark and chill. Carter was
numbed; he realized for the first time how mercilessly their cruel
journey had drawn on his strength. His stroke seemed laborious from the
very start, and his clothes hampered him. The girl obediently clung to
his shoulders.

About a quarter of the distance to the island in midstream was
accomplished. That diminutive patch of soil was a mutually acknowledged
boundary between Russia and Austria. A fierce yell of triumph caused the
swimmer to pause in his efforts. He looked back over his shoulder to see
the first pair of pursuers push their wiry mounts into the river. Then
with a groan he realized that the stream was dotted with horsemen.

It seemed almost a hopeless task to strive to reach the boat. That haven
of safety was anchored a good two hundred yards below and beyond the
isle. Gritting his teeth, however, he redoubled his efforts.

"They are gaining on us, dear," Trusia prompted.

"If it comes to the worst we can go down together, but we are not caught
yet. How close are they?"

"Not two hundred yards away," she replied after a careful backward look.

Carter caught sight of a man on deck of the vessel and hailed him with
desperately good lungs. The seaman seemed to take one fleeting look at
the struggle in the water and then disappeared hastily down a
companionway.

"How near are they now, Trusia?" gasped Carter.

"They have gained only about ten yards."

Calvert's head seemed the bursting hive of a million stinging bees. His
arms ached horribly. His legs were flung out like useless flags. He made
superhuman efforts to keep up the unequal struggle.

"How near are they now, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice rasping
out sharply under his strain.

"They have gained only another ten yards, beloved," she responded
solacing as a sweet woman does in the very teeth of despair.

His mouth and tongue were swollen and his throat was parched. His head
throbbed wildly with an ugly drumming, while each breath seemed a solid
thing racking his burning lungs with a novel pain.

"I'll make it--I'll make it--I'll make it," he repeated in
semi-conscious determination. "How near now?" he gasped back to her.

"They have gained in all about fifty yards." She