She snatched up a hat and shawl from the commode, and, with hurried movements rearranged her hair; then she followed him submissively into the gathering dusk, shrinking close as if to efface herself whenever they passed anyone. The streets were full of men now, mostly bound from hotels, lodging houses and tents to the Eldorado and kindred resorts. Many of them ogled her curiously, for a female figure was a rarity in nocturnal San Francisco. They passed dimly lighted tents in which dark figures bulked grotesquely against canvas walls. In one a man seemed to be dancing with a large animal which Stanley told her was a grizzly bear. "They have many queer pets," he said. "One of my neighbors keeps a pet coon, and in another tent there are a bay horse, two dogs, two sheep and a pair of goats. They sleep with their master like a happy family." "It is all so strange," said the girl, faintly. "In the East my father was a lawyer; we had a good house and a carriage; everything was so different from--this. But after my mother died, he grew restless. He sold everything and came to this rough, wild country. None of his old friends would know him now, with his beard, his boots and the horrible red flannel shirt." Adrian made no reply. He was thinking of the tragic news which must ere long be told to Burthen's daughter. For a time they strode along in silence--until Stanley paused before an open door. Against the inner light which streamed through it into the darkness of the street a woman's figure was outlined. "Well, here we are, at last," said Adrian. "And my wife's in the doorway waiting to scold me for being so late." Inez ran to meet him. "I have been anxious," she declared. She noted her husband's companion, and stepped back, startled. "Adrian, who is this?" "A daughter of the mur----" Adrian began. He broke the telltale word in two: "Of James Burthen--Benito's partner." "Ah, then you know my brother," Inez hailed her eagerly. She took the girl's hands in her own and pressed them. "You must tell us all about him--quickly. We have waited long for news." "You are--Mr. Windham's sister?" cried the girl almost incredulously. Then, with a swift abandonment to emotion she threw her arms about the elder woman's neck and sobbed. Stanley followed them into the house. He saw Inez supporting her companion, soothing her in those mysterious ways which only women know. His mind was stirred with grave perplexities. A peremptory knock aroused him from his cogitations. Could it be the gambler so soon? He thought there were voices. Several men, no doubt. Inez called out in a whisper, "Who is there?" "Go back," her husband ordered. "It's all right, dear. They're friends of mine." Inez came out quickly and stood beside him, looking up into his face. "You're sure? There's no--no danger?"