"I did not suppose you would like it, as I knew you would be back with a party from the mines." "How innocent she is!" he exclaimed, laughing again. "By the powers, Sybil, I have made a mistake! I ought to have put you on the stage. That sort of talent would have made a fortune for us both." "It is not too late," she said, with a certain eagerness. "Oh, isn't it? Well, we can talk about that some other time. Just now I want to know what brought that Laurence here?" She tried to look at him with astonishment, but, actress as she was, her craft failed for once; the lids drooped over her eyes and her lips refused to utter the words she struggled to force upon them. "Now stop that," said he. "Just tell the truth, or I'll follow him, and he shall have a taste of my bowie-knife before morning. What did he want? Make a short story of it, for I am hungry." "He had been traveling among the mountains with some friends, and got hurt. They wanted to stay here, but I would not keep them and they went away." "So far so good! You was afraid I should kill him, eh?" "Yes," she answered; "but more afraid that he would recognize me." "Then you didn't speak to him?" "No; he had fainted. I was not likely to make myself known to any of my former friends," she added, bitterly. "As Phil Yates the gambler's wife? No, I suppose not. Well, he is gone, so let the matter rest. Come, you're a rather good girl. I want you to dress yourself and come down to supper--look your prettiest." "Who is there?" "Oh, mostly our set of fellows." "Then I shall not go down." "Indeed! I haven't time to make a scene. There are a couple of young chaps fresh from the mines with lots of gold-dust. Now will you come?" "Will you promise to conduct yourselves like men?" "Upon my word, she is making terms! Yes, I will. I tell you, Sybil, the gold we win from them to-night will help to shorten your stay here. Think of that, and come." "I don't wish any supper. I will come down afterward." "So be it. Put on the pink dress with all those flounces, that I brought you from San Francisco, and look young, and do try and be handsome again." "Shall we be able to go from here soon, Philip?" she asked. "Not a day before I please," he replied, irritated by the question. "Show any anxiety, and you shall spend your life here. I promise you it shall not be a pleasant one." "Have I complained?" she demanded, sinking her voice to a tone of singular sweetness. "Have I not clung to you as few women would have done? Can you blame me for longing to have another home than this?" "It is natural enough; but patience, Sybil, patience." "I have had patience," she muttered, while a dangerous light shot into her eyes, "so long--so long!" "You are a great woman, Sybil, I always admit that; but you know very well that if you left me I should have hunted you like a wolf--aha! my bird!" The gleam in her eyes died into a look of cold terror; she extended her hand for the light, saying: