Miss Thorn unpacked the things we had brought, while I surveyed the
cavern. It was in the solid rock, some ten feet high and irregular in
shape, and perfectly dry. It was a marvel to me how cosy she made it.
One of the Maria's lanterns was placed in a niche, and the Celebrity's
silver toilet-set laid out on a ledge of the rock, which answered
perfectly for a dressing-table. Miss Thorn had not forgotten a small
mirror. And as a last office, set a dainty breakfast on a linen napkin
on the rock, heating the coffee in a chafing-dish.

"There!" she exclaimed, surveying her labors, "I hope you will be more
comfortable."

He had already taken the precaution to brush his hair and pull himself
together. His thanks, such as they were, he gave to Miss Thorn. It is
true that she had done more than any one else.

"Good-bye, old boy!" said the Fraction. "We'll come back when we get the
chance, and don't let that hundred thousand keep you awake."

The Fraction and I covered up the mouth of the cave with brush. He
became confidential.

"Lucky dog, Allen!" he said. "They'll never get him away from Cooke.
And he can have any girl he wants for the asking. By George! I believe
Miss Thorn will elope with him if he ever reaches Canada."

I only mention this as a sample of the Fraction's point of view.
I confess the remark annoyed me at the time.

Miss Thorn lingered in the cave for a minute after Miss Trevor came out.
Then we retraced our way down the brook, which was dancing now in the
sunlight. Miss Trevor stopped now and then to rest, in reality to laugh.
I do not know what the Fraction thought of such heartless conduct. He
and I were constantly on the alert for Mr. Drew, but we sighted the camp
without having encountered him. It was half-past six, and we had trusted
to slip in unnoticed by any one. But, as we emerged from the trees, the
bustling scene which greeted our eyes filled us with astonishment. Two
of the tents were down, and the third in a collapsed condition, while
confusion reigned supreme. And in the midst of it all stood Mr. Cooke,
an animated central figure pedestalled on a stump, giving emphatic
directions in a voice of authority. He spied us from his elevated
position before we had crossed the brook.

"Here they come, Maria," he shouted.

We climbed to the top of the slope, and were there confronted by Mrs.
Cooke and Mr. Trevor, with Mr. Cooke close behind them.

"Where the devil is Allen?" my client demanded e