troubled gaze upon Van Brunt.

"Chief Tantlatch's daughter, sort of princess," Fairfax explained,
with an honest flush. "One of the inducements, in short, to make me
stay. Thom, this is Van Brunt, friend of mine."

Van Brunt held out his hand, but the woman maintained a rigid repose
quite in keeping with her general appearance. Not a line of her face
softened, not a feature unbent. She looked him straight in the eyes,
her own piercing, questioning, searching.

"Precious lot she understands," Fairfax laughed. "Her first
introduction, you know. But as you were saying, with the Spanish fleet
bottled up in Santiago?"

Thom crouched down by her husband's side, motionless as a bronze
statue, only her eyes flashing from face to face in ceaseless search.
And Avery Van Brunt, as he talked on and on, felt a nervousness under
the dumb gaze. In the midst of his most graphic battle descriptions,
he would become suddenly conscious of the black eyes burning into him,
and would stumble and flounder till he could catch the gait and go
again. Fairfax, hands clasped round knees, pipe out, absorbed, spurred
him on when he lagged, and repictured the world he thought he had
forgotten.

One hour passed, and two, and Fairfax rose reluctantly to his feet.
"And Cronje was cornered, eh? Well, just wait a moment till I run over
to Tantlatch. He'll be expecting you, and I'll arrange for you to see
him after breakfast. That will be all right, won't it?"