“Good-bye, old boy!” said the Fraction.  “We’ll come back when we get the chance, and don’t let that hundred thousand keep you awake.”

The Fraction and I covered up the mouth of the cave with brush.  He became confidential.

“Lucky dog, Allen!” he said.  “They’ll never get him away from Cooke.  And he can have any girl he wants for the asking.  By George!  I believe Miss Thorn will elope with him if he ever reaches Canada.”

I only mention this as a sample of the Fraction’s point of view.  I confess the remark annoyed me at the time.

Miss Thorn lingered in the cave for a minute after Miss Trevor came out.  Then we retraced our way down the brook, which was dancing now in the sunlight.  Miss Trevor stopped now and then to rest, in reality to laugh.  I do not know what the Fraction thought of such heartless conduct.  He and I were constantly on the alert for Mr. Drew, but we sighted the camp without having encountered him.  It was half-past six, and we had trusted to slip in unnoticed by any one.  But, as we emerged from the trees, the bustling scene which greeted our eyes filled us with astonishment.  Two of the tents were down, and the third in a collapsed condition, while confusion reigned supreme.  And in the midst of it all stood Mr. Cooke, an animated central figure pedestalled on a stump, giving emphatic directions in a voice of authority.  He spied us from his elevated position before we had crossed the brook.

“Here they come, Maria,” he shouted.

We climbed to the top of the slope, and were there confronted by Mrs. Cooke and Mr. Trevor, with Mr. Cooke close behind them.

“Where the devil is Allen?” my client demanded excitedly of the Fraction.

“Allen?” repeated that gentleman, “why, we made him comfortable and left him, of course.  We had sense enough not to bring him here to be pulled.”

“But, you damfool,” cried Mr. Cooke, slightly forgetting himself, “Drew has escaped.”

“Escaped?”

“Yes, escaped,” said Mr. Cooke, as though our conductor were personally responsible; “he got away this morning.  Before we know it, we’ll have the whole police force of Far Harbor out here to jug the lot of us.”

The Fraction, being deficient for the moment in language proper to express his appreciation of this new development, simply volunteered to return for the Celebrity, and left in a great hurry.

“Irene,” said Mr. Trevor, “can it be possible that you have stolen away for the express purpose of visiting this criminal?”

“If he is a criminal, father, it is no reason that he should starve.”

“It is no reason,” cried her father, hotly, “why a young girl who has been brought up as you have, should throw every lady-like instinct to the winds.  There are men enough in this camp to keep him from starving.  I will not have my daughter’s name connected with that of a defaulter.  Irene, you have set the seal of disgrace upon a name which I have labored for a lifetime to make one of the proudest in the land.  And it was my fond hope that I possessed a daughter who—­”