The sitting room proved to be vacant, and a glance through the open door into the dining-room just behind it showed that this too was untenanted. But as Jack turned back toward the hall, intending to seek upstairs, he heard a rattling at the lock of the outer door. Swiftly he glanced about him; then as swiftly he slipped back into the sitting room and hid behind the long heavy curtains that veiled the windows. The next instant the door opened and a girl came in. At sight of her Jack’s heart gave a sudden bound and then stood still. It was Alagwa. And yet it was not she! Gone were the boyish garments that he had known so well, and with them had gone the slim boyish figure and the careless boyish carriage. The girl did not wear even the Indian costume that he had expected; from head to foot she was clothed in the garments of the whites. And her face! Jack gasped as his eyes rose to it. The several features he knew--the dark splendid starry eyes, the clustering curls, the red lips, the olive cheeks in which the color came and went. They were all there, but with them was something else, an indefinable something that he had never seen before. Marvelling, he gazed, till doubt began to grow in his mind. Could this indeed be she--be his little comrade of the trails, she who had fought for him, she who had nursed him, she who had pledged herself to him for better or for worse? Could she have changed into this dazzling being, this maiden like and yet unlike the “sweet gentle ladies” he had known all his life, this being adorable from the tips of her tiny boots to the last riotous curl of her hair? He was about to sweep the curtains aside and step forth when the half-closed door behind her was flung open and an officer in a red coat, with a long military cloak trailing from his shoulder, strode into the room. At sight of him the girl threw back her shoulders. Her eyes flashed. Her cheeks flamed. “Captain Telfair!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Where are Mr. and Mrs. Winslow?” Brito’s eyes gleamed. He did not answer the questions. “At last,” he breathed. “At last! I’ve got you at last. I told you I would get you sooner or later. And, by God, I have.” His voice sank almost to a whisper. Alagwa did not answer. Almost she seemed to have expected some such reply. Steadily she faced the man. Jack, behind her, could see the color pulsing in her cheek, just visible by the flaming lamps. Greatly he longed to spring forward and take Brito by the throat. But he did not do so. He was in the heart of the enemy’s camp; the least outcry would bring against him overwhelming odds and doom him to a shameful death. Until the very last moment he would wait.