was to him as the long-sought cave to some hunted animal. It seemed
impossible that any one would seek him there. He was spared alike the
contact of his enemies or the shame of recognizing even a friendly face,
until by each he would be forgotten. From his coign of vantage on that
desolate waste, and with the aid of his telescope, no stranger could
approach within two or three miles of his cabin without undergoing his
scrutiny. And at the worst, if he was pursued here, before him was the
trackless shore and the boundless sea!

And at times there was a certain satisfaction in watching, unseen and in
perfect security, the decks of passing ships. With the aid of his glass
he could mingle again with the world from which he was debarred, and
gloomily wonder who among those passengers knew their solitary watcher,
or had heard of his deeds; it might have made him gloomier had he known
that in those eager faces turned towards the golden haven there was
little thought of anything but themselves. He tried to read in faces on
board the few outgoing ships the record of their success with a strange
envy. They were returning home! HOME! For sometimes--but seldom--he
thought of his own home and his past. It was a miserable past of forgery
and embezzlement that had culminated a career of youthful dissipation
and self-indulgence, and shut him out, forever, from the staid old
English cathedral town where he was born. He knew that his relations
believed and wished him dead. He thought of this past with little
pleasure, but with little remorse. Like most of his stamp, he believed
it was ill-luck, chance, somebody else's fault, but never his own
responsible action. He would not repent; he would be wiser only. And he
would not be retaken--alive!

Two or three months passed in this monotonous duty, in which he partly
recovered his strength and his nerves. He lost his furtive, restless,
watchful look; the bracing sea air and the burning sun put into his face
the healthy tan and the uplifted frankness of a sailor. His eyes grew
keener from long scanning of the horizon; he knew where to look
for sails, from the creeping coastwise schooner to the far-rounding
merchantman from Cape Horn. He knew the faint line of haze that
indicated the steamer long before her masts and funnels became visible.
He saw no soul except the solitary boatman of the little "plunger,"
who landed his weekly provisions at a small cove hard by. The boatman
thought his secr