For a moment the Prince paused then crossing to the escritoire, which stood in the window, took therefrom a folded newspaper, old and tattered, together with several other papers folded together lengthwise. Recrossing to where Brooker stood, he held them up to his gaze, with a sinister smile upon his lips, and a look full of menace. "No! no!" cried the Captain, glaring at the innocent-looking papers, and drawing back with a gesture of repulsion. "Very well," Zertho answered, with nonchalance. "Strange though it may appear, your only chance of safety is in becoming my father-in-law. It will be easy enough for you to persuade Liane to become my wife, and I am ready and eager to remain your friend. But if your prejudices are so very intense and indiscreet, well--you know the rest." The two men who had been fellow-adventurers faced each other. In the countenance of one was confidence, in the other abject fear. "I never expected this of you, Zertho," the Captain said reproachfully, regarding him with eyes in which flashed the fire of anger. "You apparently heed nothing of my feelings as her father. You know my past; you know that Liane brings into my life its only ray of brightness." "We are no longer partners," the other answered harshly, with a strangely determined expression upon his dark countenance. "You are playing against me now, therefore I am your opponent. You've thought fit to deal the cards, it's true," he added, with a short derisive laugh; "but I think you'll have to admit that I hold all the trumps." CHAPTER NINE. THE WAY OF TRANSGRESSORS. One thought alone possessed Liane. Zertho loved her. Next morning when the maid brought her coffee, she rose, and opening the sun-shutters, stood at the window gazing upon the broad expanse of bright blue sea. The words the Prince had uttered all came back to her. She recollected how he had pressed her hand, and declared that she was his ideal of what a woman should be; how, not satisfied with her refusal, he had promised to repeat his question. Should she accept? No, she distrusted him as much as she had ever done. While thus plunged in deep reflection, her clear eyes fixed upon the distant horizon where ships were passing, endeavouring to convince herself that marriage with Zertho was impossible because she could never love him, a light tap was heard upon the door, and the girl re-entered, bearing a letter. By its blue English stamp, she knew instinctively it was from George. Slowly she tore open the envelope and read its contents. Then, with a sudden movement, she cast herself upon her bed, burying her face in the lace-edged pillow, and bursting into a torrent of passionate tears. She hated Zertho, and still loved George.