Episode of the Sentimental Anarchist
the sheaves. Inch by inch the infernal machine descended toward the vessel's rail. Twenty men rushed to be ready to cast it loose. As it swung within a few feet of the deck, a slender, slouching man broke away from his captors with a shrill cry. Before they could overtake him he had reached the side of the deck, and leaped upon the rail with arms outstretched toward the swaying packing-case. The singular abundance of his golden whiskers partly hid the expression of his face, but those who were nearest him said that he was weeping. The laboring seamen were absorbed in a frenzy of haste. They paid no heed to this strange figure on the rail. With a mighty heave they pushed the packing-case clear of the vessel's side.
I sprang forward, forgetting my own peril, for the anarchist was waving farewell to the pretty English girl with a gesture of tragic despair. I was bent upon saving the Full-blooming Aurora from the sea. But as the infernal machine surged from its fastenings, the Sentimental Anarchist leaped forward and
