heart is tender. Your tears are for the prisoner the hunted in the chase." "No, madame, I am selfish; I weep for myself. Tell me truly, as-as if I were your own child,—was there no cloud, no darkness, out there?"

"None, dear."

“Then-then-madame, I suppose it was my tears."

Yes, Marie, it was your tears."

But each said in her heart that it was not tears; each said: "Let not this thing come, O God." And then with a caress they parted; but the girl remained. to watch, as it might be granted to her, that gloomy thing upon the Hill of Pains.

As she stood there, with her fingers clasped upon a letter, which she drew from her pocket and looked at once or twice, a voice from among the palms outside floated towards her. It was speaking thus: "He escaped last night; the Semaphore, there upon the Hill of Pains, shows that they have got upon his track. suppose they'll try to converge upon him, and hem him in, before he gets to Pascal River. Once there he might have a chance of escape; but he'll need a lot of luck, poor wretch! Marie's fingers tightened on the letter. Then another voice replied, and it brought a flush to the cheek of the girl, and a hint of trouble in her eyes. It said in no apparent connection with what had just been uttered, "Is Miss Gorham here still?"

"Ah, yes, Miss Marie Gorham is still here, to our pleasure. My wife will be distressed when she leaves us; yet she speaks of going very soon."

"I doubt not she will be distressed to go. The Hôtel du Gouverneur spoils us for all other places in New Caledonia."

"You are too kind, Monsieur Farling." "I do not say at all what I should like to say, Monsieur le Gouverneur."

"But I fear that those who think as you are not many. After all, I am little more here than a gaoler-merely a gaoler, Monsieur Farling."

"Ah, pardon me if I correct you,--the Commandant of a military station and the Governor of a Colony."

"The station is a penitentiary; the colony- eh ?-for libérés, ticket-of-leave men and outcast Paris; with a sprinkling of gentlemen and officers dying of ennui. No, my friend, we French are not colonists. We emigrate, we do not colonize. This is no colony. We do no good here."

"You forget the nickel mines."

Quarries for the convicts and for political prisoners of the lowest class." "And the plantations."

"Ah, there I crave your pardon. You are a planter, but you are English. Monsieur Gorham is a planter and an owner of mines, but he is English. The man who has made the most money in New Caledonia-Monsieur Hilton-is an Englishman. You, and a few others like you, French and English, are the only colony I have. I do not rule you; you help me to rule."

"To rule?"

"By being on the side of justice and public morality; by dining with me (though all too seldom); by giving me a quiet hour now and then beneath your vines and fig-trees; and so making this uniform less burdensome for me to carry. No, no, Monsieur Murray Farling, I know you are about to say something very gracious but you shall not, you shall pay your compliments to the ladies."

As they journeyed to the morning-room Murray Farling said: "Does Monsieur Rive Laflamme still come to paint the portrait of Miss Gorham?"

"Yes; but it ends in a day or two, and then no more of that. Prisoners are prisoners, and pleasant as is Monsieur Laflamme-that makes it the more diffi

cult."

66

'Why should he be treated so well? as a first-class prisoner, and others of the Commune be so degraded here-as Mayer, for instance?"

"It is but a question of degree. He was an artist and something of a dramatist; he was not at the Place Vendôme at a certain critical moment; he was not at Mont-martre at a particular terrible time; he was not a major like Mayer; he was young, with the face of a patriot. Well, they sent Mayer to the galleys at Toulon; then, among the worst of the prisoners here he was too bold, too full of speech; he had not Laflamme's gift of silence, of pathos. Mayer works coarsely, severely here; Laflamme grows his vegetables, idles about Ducos, swings in his hammock, and appears at inspections. One day he sent to me the picture of my wife, here it is. Is it not charming? The size of a franc-piece and so perfect! and framed in gold. You know the soft hearts of women."

"You mean that Madame Solde

"That my wife persuaded me to let him come here to paint my portrait. He has

done so, and now he paints Mademoiselle Gorham. But

"But? Yes?"

"But these things have their dangers." "Have their dangers," Murray Farling musingly repeated, and then added under his breath almost, "Escape or

"Or something else," the Governor rather sharply interrupted; and then, as they were entering the room, gaily continued: "Ah, here we come, Mademoiselle, to

"To pay your surplus of compliments, Monsieur le Gouverneur. I could not help but hear something of what you said. Mr. Farling, I am glad to see you. Let me think how long is it since you were patriotic ?"

"I am afraid I do not quite understand, Miss Gorham."

"You are English, so am I. I am here at the charming house of a French governor; Madame Solde spoils me; there are denationalizing influences about me; -you leave me to my fate," she said, with pretty mockery.

"Believe me, Miss Gorham," replied Murray Farling, with the blood quickening at his heart, "believe me, to be patriotic, one does not kneel continuously at the foot of the throne: besides, the court is not always open to subjects."

"And subjects have

and—”

plantations,

"And I leave you to Mademoiselle Gorham's tender mercies, Farling," said the Governor. "Au revoir!"

When he had gone, Murray Farling said: "Ah, you are gay to-day."

"No, indeed, no, I am sad."

"Sad? and wherefore sad? Is nickel proving a drug? Or sugar? Don't tell me that your father says sugar is falling." He glanced at the letter, which she unconsciously held in her hand.

She saw his look, smoothed the letter a little nervously between her palms, and put it in her pocket, replying: "No, father has not said that sugar is falling,-but come here, will you?" and she motioned towards the open window. When there, she said slowly: "That is what makes me sad and sorry," and she pointed to the Semaphore upon the Hill of Pains.

"You are too tender-hearted," he remarked. "A convict has escaped; he will be caught perhaps-perhaps not; and things will go on as before.'

"Will go on as before. That is, the martinet worse than the knout de Russe ; the poucettes, the crapaudine on neck and

"Pardon me, if I say that as brutal things were done by the English in Tasmania.”

"Think of two hundred and sixty strokes of the 'cat'!"

"You concern yourself too much about these things, I fear."

"I only think that death would be easier than the life of half the convicts here." "They themselves would prefer it, perhaps."

"Tell me, who is the convict that has escaped?" she rather feverishly asked. "Is it a political prisoner?"

"You would not know him. He was one of the Commune who escaped shooting in the Place de la Concorde. Carbourd, I think, was his name."

"Carbourd, Carbourd," she repeate and turned her head away towards the Semaphore.

The girl's earnestness roused in Murray Farling a glow of intense sympathy; a sympathy which had its origin, as he well knew, in three years of growing love. This love leaped up now determinedly, and perhaps unwisely: but what should a blunt soul like Murray Farling know regarding the best or worst time to seek a woman's heart? He came close to her now and said: "If you are so kind in thought for a convict, I dare hope that you would be more kind to me.'

"Be kind to you," she replied, as if not understanding what he said, nor the look in his eyes.

"For I am a prisoner too."

"You a prisoner?" she a little tremulously, a little coldly, rejoined.

"In your hands, Marie Gorham." His eyes laid bare his heart.

"Oh," she replied, in a half-troubled, half-indignant fashion, for she was out of touch with the occasion of his suit, and every woman has in her mind the time when she should and when she should not be wooed; besides-"Oh, why aren't you plain with me?" she protestingly cried. "You say things strangely, vaguely."

Marie, must I go like this? When may I see you again? When will you answer me? You will not make all the hopes of my love to end here?"

It was evident that some deep trouble was on the girl. She flushed hotly, as if she were about to reply hotly also, but she changed quickly, and said, not unkindly: "When Monsieur Laflamme is gone." And now, as if repenting of her unreasonable words of a moment before, she added: "Oh, please don't think me hard. I am sorry that I grieve you. I'm afraid I am not altogether well; not altogether happy."

"I will wait till he has gone," the planter replied. At the door he turned as if to say something, but he only looked steadily, sadly at her, and then was gone.

She stood where he had left her, gazing with melancholy abstraction at the door through which he had passed. There were footsteps without in the hall-way. The door was opened, and a servant announced Monsieur Laflamme. The painter-prisoner entered followed by the soldier. Immediately afterwards Mrs. Angers, the elderly companion of Miss Gorham, sidled in gently.

Rive Laflamme bowed low to Marie Gorham, and then turned and said coolly to the soldier: "You may wait outside to-day, Roupet. This is my last morning's work. It is important, and you splutter and cough. You annoy me. You are too exhausting for a studio."

But Roupet answered: "Monsieur, I have my orders."

Mademoiselle Gorham. I forgot that you cannot smoke here, Roupet; but you shall have them all the same . . there! Parbleu! you are a handsome rascal-if you weren't so wheezy! Come, come, Roupet, make yourself invisible."

The eyes of the girl were on the soldier. They did the work better; a warrior has a soft place in his heart for a beautiful woman, and this fellow had memories. He wheeled suddenly, and disappeared from the room, motioning that he would remain at the door.

The painting began, and for half an hour or more was continued without a word. In the silence the placid Angers had fallen asleep.

Nodding slightly towards her, Rive Laflamme said in a low voice to Marie Gorham: "Her hearing at its best is not remarkable?"

"Not remarkable."

He spoke more softly. "That is good. Well, the portrait is done. It has been the triumph of my life to paint it. Not that first joy I had when I won the great prize in Paris equals it. I am glad and yet -and yet there was much chance that it would never be finished."

"Why?"

"Carbourd is gone." "Yes, I know-well?

Well, I should be gone also were it not for this portrait. The chance came. I was tempted. I determined to finish. this. I stayed."

"Do you think that he will be caught?" "Not alive. Carbourd the patriot has suffered too much -the galleys, the corde, the triangle, everything but the guillotine. Carbourd has a wife and children-ah, yes, you know all about it. You remember that letter she sent : I can recall every word; can you?"

The girl paused, and then with a rapt sympathy in her face repeated slowly : "I am ill, and our children cry for food. The wife calls to her husband, my darlings say, Will father never come home?""

6

Marie Gorham's eyes were moist.

Mademoiselle, he was no common criminal. He was like a martyr. He would grandly have died for the cause. He loved France too wildly. That was his sin."

“Carbourd is free," she said as if to

herself.

"He has escaped." His voice now was the smallest whisper. "And now my time has come."

"When? And where do you go?"

faces were wet? What rendered the soldiers who had fought us in the Commune more human for the moment? It was this:

"To-night, and to join Carbourd, if I can, at the Pascal River. Cave if possible."

At King Ovi's

The girl was very pale. She turned and looked at Angers who still slept. "And then ? "

"And then, as I have said to you before, to the coast, to board the Parroquet, which will lie off the island St. Jerome three days from now to carry us away into freedom. It is all arranged by our 'Underground Railway.'" "And you tell me all this to-daywhy?" the girl said falteringly.

"Because you said that you would not ket a hunted fugitive starve; that you vould give us horses, with which we could travel the Brocken Path across the hills. Here is the plan of the river that you drew; at this point the King's Cave vhich you discovered, and is known only 'o yourself."

"I ought not to have given you that paper; but-—— ”

"Ah, you will not repent of a noble action, of a great good to me-Marie ?" "Hush, hush, Monsieur Laflamme. Indeed you may not speak to me so. You forget. I am sorry for you: I think you do not deserve this -banishment. You are unhappy here; and I told you of the King's Cave-that was all."

"Ah no, that is not all. To be free, that is grand; but only that I may be a man again; that I may love my artand you; that I may once again be proud of France."

"Monsieur, I repeat, you must not speak so. Do not take advantage of my willingness to serve you."

"Pardon a thousand pardons! but that was in my heart, and I hoped, I hoped"

"You must not hope. I can only know you as Monsieur Rive Laflamme, the

"The political convict; ah, yes, I know," he said bitterly: " a convict over whom the knout is held; who may at any moment be shot down like a hare; who has but two prayers in all the world: to be free in France once more, and to be loved by one--"

She interrupted him: "Your first prayer is natural."

"Natural? Do you know what song we sang in the cages of the ship that carried us into this evil exile here? Do you know what brought tears to the eyes of the guards?-what made the captain and the sailors turn their heads away from us, lest we should see that their

At that moment Madame Solde entered the room. She acknowledged Laflamme's presence gravely

"It is all done, madame," he said.
"All done, monsieur?"

"The portrait, as you may honour it with a glance."

Madame Solde bowed coldly, but said: "It is well done."

"It is my master-piece," remarked the painter musingly; "if my poor work can be given such a name. Will you permit me to say adieu, mesdames? I go to join my amiable and attentive companion, Roupet the guard." He bowed himself

out.

Madame Solde then turned, and drew Marie aside, Angers discreetly left.

The Governor's wife drew the girl's head back on her shoulder, and kissed her on the eyes. "Marie," she said, "Monsieur Farling does not seem happy; cannot you make him happier?

With quivering lips the girl laid her head on the Frenchwoman's breast, and said: "Ah, do not ask me. Madame, I am going home to-day."

"To-day? But, my child, so soon!I wished

"I must go to-day."

But we had hoped you would stay while Monsieur Farling

"Murray Farling-will-go with me --perhaps."

"Ah, my dear Marie ! The woman kissed the girl and wondered.

That afternoon Marie Gorham vas riding across the Winter Valley to her father's plantation at the Pascal River. Angers was driving ahead. Beside Marie

rode Murray Farling, silent and attentive. Arrived at the homestead, she said to him in the shadow of the naoulis: "Murray Farling, what would you do to prove the love you say you have for me?"

"All that a man could do I would do." "Can you see the Semaphore from here?

"Yes, and Marie?"

"And Monsieur Laflamme

"Laflamme!" he said sharply. Then noticing how at his bruqueness the paleness of her face changed to a startled flush for an instant, his generosity conquered, and he added gently: "Well, I fancied he would try, but what do you know about that, Marie Gorham?"

"He and Carbourd were friends. They were chained together in the galleys, they lived at first-together here. They both desire to return to France."

"Tell me," he said, "what do you know of this? What is it to you?"

"You wish to know all before you will swear to do what I desire."

"I will do anything you ask, because you will not require of me what is unmanly."

"Rive Laflamme will escape to-night if possible, and join Carbourd on the Pascal River, at a safe spot th t I know." She told him of the Cave.

"Yes, yes, I understand. You would help him. And I?"

"You will help me. . . . You will?" There was a slight pause, and then he said: "Yes, I will. But think what this is to an Englishman-to yourself: to be accomplice to the escape of a French prisoner."

"I gave a promise to a man whom I believe deserves it; who himself believed he was a patriot. If you were in that

position, and I were a Frenchwoman, I would do the same for you."

He smiled rather grimly and said: “If it please you that this man escape, I shall hope he may, and will help you. Here comes your father."

"I could not let him know," she said. "He has no sympathy for any one like that, for any one at all, I think, but me. Ah, me!"

"There, don't be down-hearted. If you have set your heart on this, I at least will try to bring it about, God knows! Now let us be less gloomy. Conspirators should smile. That is the cue. Besides, see, the world is bright. Look at the glow upon the hills." "I suppose the Semaphore is glistening at the Hill of Pains; but I cannot see it."

And he did not understand her.

II.

It

A FEW hours after this conversation between Marie Gorham and Murray Farling, Rive Laflamme sought to accomplish his escape. He had lately borne a letter from the Commandant, which permitted him to go from point to point outside the peninsula of Ducos, where the least punished of the political prisoners were kept. He depended somewhat on this for his escape. Carbourd had been more heroic, but then Carbourd was desperate. Rive Laflamme believed more in ability than force. was ability and money that had won over the captain of the Parroquet, coupled with the connivance of an old member of the Commune, who was now a guard. This night there was increased alertness, owing to the escape of Carbourd; and himself, if not more closely watched, was at least open to quick suspicion owing to his known friendship for Carbourd. He strolled about the fortified enclosure, chatting to fellow prisoners, and waiting for the call which should summon them to the huts. Through years of studied good-nature he had come to be regarded as a contented prisoner. He had no enemies save one among the guards. This man Maillot he had offended by thwarting his continued ill-treatment of a young lad who had been one of the condemned of the Commune, and whose hammock, at last, by order of the Commandant, was slung in Laflamme's hut. For this kindness and interposition