In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. She recalled him. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. “Your sister’s future is at stake. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. But apart from that, you have no particular objection to him, I suppose?” “The occurrence of last night is quite sufficient in itself,” Sir John answered, “to make me wish to discontinue Mr.
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