“You took great chances in sending me to Livermore,” I said. “It might have gone hard with Mr. Knapp's plans if I had not got back.” “I thought of that. But if the boy had been where I supposed all would have been well. I should have telegraphed you before nightfall to return. But in the distraction of my search I did not give up till midnight. I left a telegram at the office to be sent you the first thing in the morning, but by that time you were here. It was a bold escape, and I feel that we owe you much for it.” At her last words we were at the wharf, and landed free from fear. An hour later I reached my lodgings, sore with fatigue, and half-dead for want of sleep. The excitement that had spurred my strength for the last enterprise no longer supported me. I slept twenty-four hours in peace, and no dream of Doddridge Knapp's brother or of the snake-eyes of Tom Terrill disturbed my repose. CHAPTER XXXI THE REWARD “I've heard about you,” said Luella, when on the next evening I made my bow to her. “But I want to hear all about it from yourself. Tell me, please.” “Where shall I begin?” I asked, looking into the most charming of faces, which shone before me. “How stupid to ask! At the beginning, of course.” “I was born of poor but honest parents”--I began. Luella interrupted me with a laugh. “How absurd you are! Anyhow, you can tell me about that later. Just begin with the San Francisco beginning. Tell me why you came and all about it.” “Very good,” I said; “though really this part is much longer than the other.” Then I told her the story of my coming, of the murder of Henry Wilton, of the struggles with death and difficulty that had given the spice of variety to my life since I had come across the continent. It was an inspiration to have such a listener. Under the encouragement of her sympathy I found an unwonted flow of words and ideas. Laughter and tears shone in her eyes as the ludicrous and sorrowful parts of my experience touched her by turns. And at the end I found--I really don't know how it happened--I found that I was clasping her hand and looking up into her eyes in a trance of intoxication from the subtle magnetism of her lovely presence. For a minute we were silent. “Oh,” she cried softly, withdrawing her hand, and looking dreamily away, “I knew it was right--that it must be right. You have justified my faith, and more!” “I am repaid for all by those words,” I said. I am afraid I stared very hard at her, but it was pleasant, indeed, to look into Luella's eyes without any reservations or conscientious qualms in thinking of my duty to hang her father. “You deserve a much greater reward than that,” said Luella. “I want a much greater reward than that,” said I boldly. I did not think the courage was in me. But under the magnetic influence of the woman before me I forgot what a poor devil I was. Luella looked at me, and I saw in her eyes that she understood what I would say.