y you didn't want me to come to
your father's house. Why was that?"

"Because Marco was there," said the girl frankly.

"What had HE to do with it?" said Jarman abruptly.

"He wants to marry me."

"And do you want to marry HIM?" said Jarman quickly.

"No," said the girl passionately.

"Why don't you get rid of him, then?"

"I can't, he's hiding here,--he's father's friend."

"Hiding? What's he been doing?"

"Stealing. Stealing gold-dust from miners. I never cared for him anyway.
And I hate a thief!"

She looked up quickly. Jarman had risen to his feet, his face turned to
sea.

"What are you looking at?" she said wonderingly.

"A ship," said Jarman, in a strange, hoarse voice. "I must hurry back
and signal. I'm afraid I haven't even time to walk with you,--I must run
for it. Good-by!"

He turned without offering his hand and ran hurriedly in the direction
of the semaphore.

Cara, discomfited, turned her black eyes to the sea. But it seemed empty
as before, no sail, no ship on the horizon line, only a little schooner
slowly beating out of the Gate. Ah, well! It no doubt was there,--that
sail,--though she could not see it; how keen and far-seeing his
handsome, honest eyes were! She heaved a little sigh, and, calling Lucy
to her side, began to make her way homeward. But she kept her eyes on
the semaphore; it seemed to her the next thing to seeing him,--this man
she was beginning to love. She waited for the gaunt arms to move with
the signal of the vessel he had seen. But, strange to say, it was
motionless. He must have been mistaken.

All this, however, was driven from her mind in the excitement that she
found on her return thrilling her own family. They had been warned that
a police boat with detectives on board had been dispatched from San
Francisco to the cove. Luckily, they had managed to convey the fugitive
Franti on board a coastwise schooner,--Cara started as she remembered
the one she had seen beating out of the Gate,--and he was now safe from
pursuit. Cara felt relieved; at the same time she felt a strange joy
at her heart, which sent the conscious blood to her cheek. She was not
thinking of the escaped Marco, but of Jarman. Later, when the police
boat arrived,--whether the detectives had been forewarned of Marco's
escape or not,--they contented themselves with a formal search of the
little fishing-hut and departed. But their boat remained lying off the
shore.

That night Cara tossed sleepless