Collier and his wife had left the veranda and had crossed the lawn towards the water’s edge. The moonlight fell full upon them with all the splendor of the tropics, and lit the night with a brilliant, dazzling radiance. From where Miss Cameron sat on the veranda in the shadow, Sir Charles could see only the white outline of her figure and the indolent movement of her fan. Collier had left his wife and was returning slowly towards the step. Sir Charles felt that if he meant to speak he must speak now, and quickly. He rose and placed himself beside her in the shadow, and the girl turned her head inquiringly and looked up at him. But on the instant the hush of the night was broken by a sharp challenge, and the sound of men’s voices raised in anger; there was the noise of a struggle on the gravel, and from the corner of the house the two sentries came running, dragging between them a slight figure that fought and wrestled to be free. Sir Charles exclaimed with indignant impatience, and turning, strode quickly to the head of the steps. “What does this mean?” he demanded. “What are you doing with that man? Why did you bring him here?” As the soldiers straightened to attention, their prisoner ceased to struggle, and stood with his head bent on his chest. His sombrero was pulled down low across his forehead. “He was crawling through the bushes, Sir Charles,” the soldier panted, “watching that gentleman, sir,”--he nodded over his shoulder towards Collier. “I challenged, and he jumped to run, and we collared him. He resisted, Sir Charles.” The mind of the Governor was concerned with other matters than trespassers. “Well, take him to the barracks, then,” he said. “Report to me in the morning. That will do.” The prisoner wheeled eagerly, without further show of resistance, and the soldiers closed in on him on either side. But as the three men moved away together, their faces, which had been in shadow, were now turned towards Mr. Collier, who was advancing leisurely, and with silent footsteps, across the grass. He met them face to face, and as he did so the prisoner sprang back and threw out his arms in front of him, with the gesture of a man who entreats silence. Mr. Collier halted as though struck to stone, and the two men confronted each other without moving. “Good God!” Mr. Collier whispered. He turned stiffly and slowly, as though in a trance, and beckoned to his wife, who had followed him. “Alice!” he called. He stepped backwards towards her, and taking her hand in one of his, drew her towards the prisoner. “Here he is!” he said. They heard her cry “Henry!” with the fierceness of a call for help, and saw her rush forward and stumble into the arms of the prisoner, and their two heads were bent close together. Collier ran up the steps and explained breathlessly. “And now,” he gasped, in conclusion, “what’s to be done? What’s he arrested for? Is it bailable? What?”