current, began to swing out into the stream, and the end of the
gangplank slipped along the edge of the wharf. It threatened to fall
into the river, and the girl was not yet on board. Blake leaped upon
the plank. Seizing her shoulder, he drove her forward until a seaman,
reaching out, drew her safe on deck. Then the paddles splashed and as
the boat forged out into the stream, the girl turned and thanked Blake.
He could not see her clearly, for an overarching deck cast a shadow on
her face.

"Glad to have been of assistance; but I don't think you could have
fallen in," he said. "The guy-rope they had on the gangplank might
have held it up."

Turning away, he entered the smoking-room, where he spent a while over
an English newspaper that devoted some space to social functions and
the doings of people of importance, noticing once or twice, with a
curious smile, mention of names he knew. He had the gift of making
friends, and before he went to India he had met a number of men and
women of note who had been disposed to like him. Then he had won the
good opinion of responsible officers on the turbulent frontier and had
made acquaintances that might have been valuable. Now, however, he had
done with all that; he was banished from the world in which they moved,
and if they ever remembered him it was, no doubt, as one who had gone
under.

Shaking off these thoughts, he joined some Americans in a game of
cards, and it was late at night when he went out into the moonlight as
the boat steamed up Lake St. Peter. A long plume of smoke trailed
across the cloudless sky, the water glistened with silvery radiance,
and, looking over the wide expanse, he could see dark trees etched