"Well, Jetta! So you have awakened?" Jetta was sitting erect. How long she had been awake, what she had heard. I could not say. Her gaze went from De Boer to me, and back again. "Yes, I am awake." It seemed that the look she flashed me carried a warning. But whatever it was, I had no chance of pondering it, for it was driven from my mind by surprise at her next words. "Awake, yes! And interested, hearing this Grant bargain with you for his life." It surprised De Boer as well. But the alcholite had dulled his wits, and Jetta realized this, and presumed upon it. "Ho!" exclaimed De Boer. "Our little bird is angry!" "Not angry. It is contempt." Her look to me now held contempt. It froze me with startled chagrin; but only for an instant, and then the truth swept me. Strange Jetta! I had thought of her only as a child; almost, but not quite a woman. A frightened little woodland fawn. "Contempt, De Boer. Is he not a contemptuous fellow, this American?" Again I caught her look and understood it. This was a different Jetta. No longer helplessly frightened, but a woman, fighting. She had heard De Boer calmly saying that he might send me back dead--and she was fighting now for me. De Boer took another drink, and stared at her. "What is this?" She turned away. "Nothing. But if you are going to ransom me--" "I am not, little bird." * * * * * She showed no aversion for him, and it went to his head, stronger than the drink. "Never would I ransom you!" He reached for her, but nimbly she avoided him. Acting, but clever enough not to overdo it. I held myself silent: I had caught again the flash of a warning gaze from her. She had fathomed my purpose. Get his confidence. Beguile him. And woman is so much cleverer than the trickiest man at beguiling! "Do not touch me, De Boer! He tried that. He held my hand in the moonlight--to woo me with his clever words." "Hah! Grant, you hear her?" "And I find him now not a man, but a craven--" "But you will find me a man, Jetta." De Boer was hugely amused. "See Grant, we are rivals! You and Perona, then you and me. It is well for you that I fear you not, or I would run my knife through you now." I could not mistake Jetta's shudder. But De Boer did not see it, for she covered it by impulsively putting her hand upon his arm. "Did you--did you kill my father?" She stumbled over the question. But she asked it with a childlike innocence sufficiently real to convince him. "I? Why--" He recovered from his surprise. "Why no, little bird. Who told you that I did?" "No one. I--no one has said anything about it." She added slowly, "I hoped that it was not you, De Boer." "Me? Oh no: it was an accident." He shot me a menacing glance. "I will explain it all. Jetta. Your father and I were friends for years--" "Yes. I know. Often he spoke to me of you. Many times I asked him to let me meet you." * * * * *