hite foam.

His jaws were aching; a queer emptiness in his chest caused him long
and perplexing speculation. There were shouting voices aloft, and a
gleaming black wall slowly took form above him. He made out the
pointed heads of rivets.

"Are you awake?" The voice, low and sibilant, emerged from the
candle-white face.

He had been dreaming, too, during this fantastic journey. Once he had
plainly distinguished a field of waving corn. He seemed to be back in
California.

"Eileen," he murmured, surprised at the feebleness of his voice.

"No, no," came the reply. "It is Romola. I--I am leaving you!"

"Ah! Where is Jen?"

Bellowing inquiry came down to them: "Who is that? What do you want?"

The girl called back: "The wireless operator. He is sick. Drop the
ladder. Send down some one to carry him."

The sampan was swinging about, and the coolie was paddling like mad.

"River boat--for Ching-Fu?" Peter gasped.

"No. The _King of Asia_. Peter--can you understand? I am leaving
you! This is good-by! I--I--we will never see each other again. I--I
couldn't turn you over to that man!"

"But the candle----" Peter was miserably confused. "You raised
it--once! I said no!"

Romola seemed to become rather hysterical. "I tricked them, Peter!
Oh, won't you understand? I do love you, Peter! I couldn't give you
to them!"

"No," he muttered; "I don't understand. I--I'm dizzy."

The voice was bellowing again.

"Is that Peter Moore? What's happened to him?"

"He's sick--sick! Send down a watchman. Hurry! This tide is carrying
us away!"

Something bounded into the sampan. A brown coil was flattened against
the gleaming black wall.

But Peter could not understand. He was back again in the cellar under
Romola's house, mumbling insanely about a candle-light. Perhaps he
dreamed that hot lips were pressed lingeringly against his own. Over
and over he heard a fading voice; it was saying: "Good-by!--_Ch'ing_!"

The glaring sun was in his face. He shut his eyes. The lips seemed to
be torn from his in a cry of anguish. Strong arms encircled his waist,
and he was no longer aware of the motion of the sampan.

It was late in the day when Peter opened his eyes again, closed them,
and stared at the mattress and springs of a bunk over his head. He was
lying on his back in his stateroom. Smoky afternoon sunlight,
reflected from a shimmering surface, sparkled and bubbled against the
white enam