Caruth grinned. “We’ll keep it as a memento of our honeymoon,” he observed. “Don’t worry. A good many wives don the trousers after marriage; you are only anticipating a little. And I don’t think you need be afraid. I can’t see a cloud on the----” He broke off as a shadow fell across the compartment, darkening the window, and a voice, rough and strained, flung a brief sentence into the interior--a sentence that made Marie spring up in terror. A man was standing on the running board, hanging to the casement. A glance at the cap he wore told that he was one of the guards (or brakemen) of the train. Volubly he sputtered in harsh-sounding Russian and eagerly Marie drank in his words. Then as suddenly as he had come, he was gone. Marie sank back on the cushions, and Caruth could see that she had grown deathly white. “It wasn’t to be, dear love,” she gasped. “It wasn’t to be.” Caruth gazed at her in consternation. This cowering woman was not the brave girl he remembered. Love had indeed robbed her of her courage. “What is it? What is it?” he importuned, sinking down beside her. “Lermantoff shall not back out now. He shall not take you away from me. If he tries----” “It isn’t Lermantoff. It’s the police. They know I am here. They know my disguise. They know I am on this train. They are only waiting till it stops to seize me. The guard is one of our men. He came along the footboard at the risk of his life to warn me. It’s all over, dear. I’ll never see America again.” For an instant the girl sobbed on; then she buried her hot face in her hands. “Oh!” she wailed, “I cannot bear it! I had not realized it! Save me! For God’s sake, save me!” All his life Caruth had been noted for the speed with which he came to decisions, and the rapidity with which he acted upon them, and this, his most exciting experience, furnished no exception to the rule. Before the last words had fallen from the girl’s lips, he was slipping out of his light spring overcoat. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he exclaimed. “You cut it fine, Marie. Why”--with a fleeting glance out the window--“we’re in the city now!” They were, but fear, like love, has wings, and before the train reached the station the girl had been disguised afresh. Shorn of her beard, and clothed in Caruth’s stylish overcoat, with his cap drawn down over her ears, she made a very presentable boy. Caruth looked her over critically. “You’ll do,” he decided. “Oh, I hope so! But aren’t you going to----” She glanced at her discarded hat and coat. “Neverlee.” The joy of the game was mounting to Caruth’s head like wine. “Neverlee! That would be ruin sure enough. I’ve got a scheme worth two of that. You’ve got a pistol, haven’t you? Let’s see it.” “Yes.” The girl drew it out wonderingly.