"Yes," she said, with abrupt maliciousness, "you may tell me where you
are going."

"I cal'late, up the Cumberland River. That's where she's bound for, if
she don't stop before she gets there Guess there ain't many of 'em
inquired where she was goin', or cared much," he added, with a ghastly
effort to be genial.

"Do you care?" she demanded, curiously. Eliphalet grinned.

"Not a great deal," he said. Then he felt called upon to defend himself.
"I didn't see any use in gettin' murdered, when I couldn't do anything."

She left him. He stared after her up the companionway, bit off a generous
piece of tobacco, and ruminated. If to be a genius is to possess an
infinite stock of patience, Mr. Hopper was a genius. There was patience
in his smile. But it was not a pleasant smile to look upon.

Virginia did not see it. She had told her aunt the news, and stood in the
breeze on the hurricane deck looking southward, with her hand shading her
eyes. The 'Barbara Lane' happened to be a boat with a record, and her
name was often in the papers. She had already caught up with and
distanced others which had had half an hour's start of her, and was near
the head of the procession.

Virginia presently became aware that people were gathering around her in
knots, gazing at a boat coming toward them. Others had been met which, on
learning the dread news, turned back. But this one kept her bow steadily
up the current, although she had passed within a biscuit-toss of the
leader of the line of refugees. It was then that Captain Vance's hairy