enough, only Eugene and her sailor lover were awake, feeling that the world was their own.
An overpowering tenderness was upon them both, as perhaps the tiger and tigress may feel at times when they have retired from their repast. She was womanly and incapable of evil, he was uplifted and heroic, and both felt as if heaven's hosts were bending over them.
In her heart she knew that if ever he returned he would be doomed for his mistake. How empty all these projects were to her at this moment; how much better it would be to forget the world—all her wrongs and hatreds—and keep this man to herself. Could they not steal away together, and hide themselves in some other part of the island until their companions left. Here they might endure cold and privations, but they need not fear the long arm and dagger-holding hand of the Red Terror to which they had pledged themselves. Here they would be beyond its reach, for they would be alone with each other.
Love and nature had played strange havoc with her heart lately, since she could prefer ice, snow and want, to keep this man all to herself.
"Darling! Are you asleep?"
"No, Eugene," he whispered softly.
"Let us leave them to-morrow, my dearest love, and conceal ourselves till they go. We can manage to live even here, and I desire no more, only to live with you and for you."
"Yes, we shall go to-morrow," he murmured, as his head sank on her soft breast, while she held him jealously close with her smooth white arms. ********
The next morning Anatole announced, at breakfast,
