“I will do my duty, sir,” said the police officer, steadily. “If I do more, my superiors can hear of it. Tom, put on the irons.” “Is this your vengeance, sir?” said Linton, as he cast a look of ineffable hate towards Cashel; but Roland made no reply, as he stood regarding the scene with an air of saddest meaning. “You knew him better than I did, Charley,” said Linton, sneeringly, “when you black-balled him at the yacht club; but the world shall know him better yet than either of us,--mean-spirited scoundrel that he is.” “Come away, sir,” said the officer, as he placed himself on one side of his prisoner, his fellow doing the same at the other. “Not till I see your warrant,” said Linton, resolutely. “There it is, sir, all reg'lar,” said the man; “signed by the secretary of state, and attested by the witness.” “The rascality is well got up,” said Linton, trying to laugh, “but by Heaven they shall pay for it!” These words were directed to where Roland stood, and uttered with a concentrated hate that thrilled through every heart around. As Linton was led forth, the commissary proceeded to arrest the different individuals present on the charge of gambling in secret. In the midst of the group was Rica, standing pale with terror, and overcome by the revelations he had listened to. “I will be responsible for this gentleman's appearance,” said Cashel, addressing the commissary. “There is no need to subject him to the insult of an arrest.” “He can only be liberated by a bail bond in the presence of the judge, sir. You can accompany me to the court, and enter into the recognizances, if you will.” “Be it so,” said Cashel, bowing. Rica made a sign for Roland to approach him. He tried to speak, but his voice was inarticulate from faint-ness, and the only audible sound was the one word “Maritaña.” “Where?” said Cashel, eagerly. Rica nodded in the direction of a small door that led from the chamber, and Cashel made a gesture of assent in answer. With headlong speed Roland traversed the corridor, and entered the antechamber at the end of it. One glance showed him that the room was empty, and he passed on into the chamber where so lately Linton had spoken with Maritaña. This, too, was deserted, as was the bedroom which opened into it. Hastening from place to place, he called her name aloud, but no answer came. Terrified by a hundred fears, for he well knew the rash, impetuous nature of the girl, Roland entreated, in tones of wildest passion, “that she might come forth,--that her friends were all around her, and nothing more to fear.” But no voice replied, and when the sound of his own died away, all was silent. The window of the dressing-room was open, and as Roland looked from it into the street beneath, his eye caught the fragment of a dress adhering to the hook of the “jalousie.” It was plain now she had made her escape in this manner, and that she was gone.