This, then, was the situation—­through an odd intervention of Providence here we were all together on this steamer, which was steadily churning its way northward, every turn of the wheel bearing us deeper into the wilderness.  The chances were that we should thus be aboard for several days; certainly until we encountered some other boat bound down stream, which would accept us as passengers.  Meanwhile what should I do?  How escape observation?  How reach Rene, without encountering Kirby?  The answer was not an easy one.  The deputy would not know me, for I had never been seen by him.  Kirby believed me dead, yet might recognize me in spite of that conviction if we met face to face.  Still, would he?  The daring hope that he might not came to me in a flash.  Might it not be possible to so disguise myself as to become unnoticeable?  I sprang up to stare at my features in the small mirror hanging over the washstand.  The face which confronted me in surprise was almost a strange one even to my eyes.  Instead of the smart young soldier, smoothly shaven, with closely-trimmed hair, and rather carefully attired, as I had appeared on board the Warrior, the glass reflected a bearded face, the skin visibly roughened and reddened by exposure, the hair ragged and uncombed.  Even to my view there remained scarcely a familiar feature—­the lack of razor and shears, the exposure to sun and water, the days of sickness and neglect, had all helped to transform me into a totally different-appearing person from what I had formerly been; the officer and gentleman had, by the mystery of environment, been changed into the outward semblance of a river roustabout.  Nor was this all.  The new character was emphasized by the clothes I wore—­far too large to fit, also the texture and color, not to mention the dirt and grease, speaking loudly of a rough life, and the vicissitudes of poverty.  The metamorphosis was complete; so complete that I laughed aloud, assured by that one glance that the gambler, confident that I was dead, would never by any possibility recognize me in this guise, or while habilitated in such nondescript garments.  Unless some happening should expose me, some occurrence arouse suspicion, I felt convinced of my ability to even slouch past him on deck unobserved, and unrecognized.

But the girl—­Rene?  And so this was how I had appeared to her.  No wonder she questioned me; doubted my first explanation.  The thought that my personal appearance was so disreputable had never occurred to me before, and even then, staring into that glass, I could scarcely bring myself to acknowledge the truth.  I had first approached her confident that my appearance as a gentleman would awaken her trust; I had felt myself to be a most presentable young man in whom she must instantly repose faith.  Yet, this had not been true at all—­instead I came to her with the outward bearing of a worthless vagabond, a stubble-bearded outcast.  And yet