"Why do I tell you this? Because you are in great peril--not of _death_, but even worse than that--and will need all the courage you can muster. I would take you with me, but that would ruin all. Pursuit would be made--for _you_--and I killed. Then would your last hope die. "You must wait patiently, and, if possible, gain time. I will be back in two weeks, at furthest. If you can evade the peril until then, we will save you. If not--then we will remember you while dealing our blows. Do you understand me?" "Partly. But what is this great peril--_he_ is dead, and Mabel is my friend. Surely, she will not let them murder me!" And Lottie paused in genuine surprise. "I will tell you, then, though 'tis a delicate subject. But this is no time for false delicacy. Then--I allude to Yellow Jack--to his passion for you," hurriedly added the man. "But he--Mabel is his wife!" "True--or passes for such. But that matters little to him. Why did he kill Guilford--his best and bravest man? Because that man claimed _you_--whom he wanted for himself. _Now_ do you understand me?" "I--think I do," faltered Lottie, turning ghastly pale. "Then--listen. The trial will come--sooner or later. It may come to-day--or it may not come until we return. For _your_ sake I hope not. But you must be prepared for it. You must play a part. You must hide your real feelings, and dissemble. Though keen as steel, you can blind him in his passion with your mother wit. Affect to think of the matter. Tell him you are too heart-sick--that all around is so new and strange that you must have time to reconcile yourself to the change. Tell him any thing--only gain time. Gain two weeks, and I pledge my word--my life, that you shall be saved. I give you the word of a man who never lied unless to an enemy, such as those with whom I am now dealing. Only two weeks, at the most. I may return before, but if I am not here then, you can know that I am dead." "You frighten me, but--" "Hist! there is some one coming! Be cautious--hide your feelings, or all is lost!" whispered the man, again becoming "Crazy Joe," as he crouched down upon the floor and began tracing meaningless figures in the dry sand with his fingers, crooning a low, monotonous strain as unmeaning as his blank and expressionless features. Yellow Jack entered. He gave a start as the dark figure seated upon the floor caught his eyes, but then, with recognition, came reassurance. He cared little whether the idiot heard his words or not.