ea,
and the police boat was gone. She no longer hesitated, but ran quickly
in the direction of Jarman's cabin. As she ran, her mind seemed to be
swept clear of all illusion and fancy; she saw plainly everything that
had happened; she knew the mystery of Jarman's presence here,--the
secret of his life,--the dreadful cruelty of her remark to him,--the man
that she knew now she loved. The sun was painting the black arms of the
semaphore as she toiled over the last stretch of sand and knocked
loudly at the door. There was no reply. She knocked again; the cabin was
silent. Had he already fled?--and without seeing her and knowing all!
She tried the handle of the door; it yielded; she stepped boldly into
the room, with his name upon her lips. He was lying fully dressed upon
his couch. She ran eagerly to his side and stopped. It needed only a
single glance at his congested face, his lips parted with his heavy
breath, to see that the man was hopelessly, helplessly drunk!

Yet even then, without knowing that it was her thoughtless speech which
had driven him to seek this foolish oblivion of remorse and sorrow,
she saw only his HELPLESSNESS. She tried in vain to rouse him; he
only muttered a few incoherent words and sank back again. She looked
despairingly around. Something must be done; the steamer might be
visible at any moment. Ah, yes,--the telescope! She seized it and swept
the horizon. There was a faint streak of haze against the line of sea
and sky, abreast the Golden Gate. He had once told her what it meant.
It WAS the steamer! A sudden thought leaped into her clear and active
brain. If the police boat should chance to see that haze too, and saw
no warning signal from the semaphore, they would suspect something. That
signal must be made, BUT NOT THE RIGHT ONE! She remembered quickly
how he had explained to her the difference between the signals for a
coasting steamer and the one that brought the mails. At that distance
the police boat could not detect whether the semaphore's arms were
extended to perfect right angles for the mail steamer, or if the left
arm slightly deflected for a coasting steamer. She ran out to the
windlass and seized the crank. For a moment it defied her strength; she
redoubled her efforts: it began to creak and groan, the great arms were
slowly uplifted, and the signal made.

But the familiar sounds of the moving machinery had pierced through
Jarman's sluggish consciousness as no other sound in heave