Barbara Harding threw herself beside Byrne. Apparently life was extinct. With a little cry of horror the girl put her ear close to the man's lips. She could hear nothing. “Come back! Come back!” she wailed. “Forgive me that cruel laugh. O Billy! Billy! I love you!” and the daughter of old Anthony Harding, multimillionaire and scion of the oldest aristocracy that America boasts, took the head of the Grand Avenue mucker in her arms and covered the white, bloody face with kisses--and in the midst of it Billy Byrne opened his eyes. She was caught in the act. There was no escape, and as a crimson flush suffused her face Billy Byrne put his arms about her and drew her down until their lips met, and this time she did not put her hands upon his shoulders and push him away. “I love you, Billy,” she said simply. “Remember who and what I am,” he cautioned, fearful lest this great happiness be stolen away from him because she had forgotten for the moment. “I love you Billy,” she answered, “for what you ARE.” “Forever?” “Until death do us part!” And then Norris and Foster, having dispatched their man, came running up. “Is he badly hurt, madam?” cried Captain Norris. “I don't know,” replied Miss Harding; “I'm just trying to help him up, Captain Norris,” she laboriously explained in an effort to account for her arms about Billy's neck. Norris gave a start of surprise at hearing his name. “Who are you?” he cried. “How do you know me?” and as the girl turned her face toward him, “Miss Harding! Thank God, Miss Harding, you are safe.” “But where on earth did you come from?” asked Barbara. “It's a long story, Miss Harding,” replied the officer, “and the ending of it is going to be pretty hard on you--you must try to bear up though.” “You don't mean that father is dead?” she asked, a look of terror coming to her eyes. “Not that--we hope,” replied Norris. “He has been taken prisoner by these half-breed devils on the island. I doubt if they have killed him--we were going to his rescue when we ourselves were captured. He and Mr. Mallory were taken three days ago.” “Mallory!” shouted Billy Byrne, who had entirely recovered from the blow that had merely served to stun him for a moment. “Is Mallory alive?” “He was yesterday,” replied Norris; “these fellows from whom you so bravely rescued us told us that much.” “Thank God!” whispered Billy Byrne. “What made you think he was dead?” inquired the officer, looking closely at Byrne as though trying to place him. Another man might have attempted to evade the question but the new Billy Byrne was no coward in any department of his moral or physical structure. “Because I thought that I had killed him,” he replied, “the day that we took the Lotus.” Captain Norris looked at the speaker in undisguised horror. “You!” he cried. “You were one of those damned cut-throats! You the man that nearly killed poor Mr. Mallory! Miss Harding, has he offered you any indignities?”