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Byrne turned away from the reproach which replaced the horror in the girl's eyes,

and with a tired sigh let his head fall upon his outstretched arm. The girl watched

him for a moment, a puzzled expression upon her face, and then returned to

work above Theriere.

The Frenchman's respiration was scarcely appreciable, yet after a time he opened

his eyes and looked up wearily. At sight of the girl he smiled wanly, and tried to

speak, but a fit of coughing flecked his lips with bloody foam, and again he closed

his eyes. Fainter and fainter came his breathing, until it was with difficulty that

the girl detected any movement of his breast whatever. She thought that he was

dying, and she was afraid. Wistfully she looked toward the mucker. The man still

lay with his head buried in his arm, but whether he were wrapped in thought, in

slumber, or in death the girl could not tell. At the final thought she went white

with terror.

Slowly she approached the man, and leaning over placed her hand upon his

shoulder.

Mr. Byrne!" she whispered.

The mucker turned his face toward her. It looked tired and haggard.

Wot is it?" he asked, and his tone was softer than she had ever heard it.

I think Mr. Theriere is dying," she said, "and I--I-- Oh, I am so afraid."

The man flushed to the roots of his hair. All that he could think of were the ugly

words he had spoken a short time before--and now Theriere was dying! Byrne

would have laughed had anyone suggested that he entertained any other

sentiment than hatred toward the second officer of the Halfmoon--that is he

would have twenty-four hours before; but now, quite unexpectedly, he realized

that he didn't want Theriere to die, and then it dawned upon him that a new

sentiment had been born within him--a sentiment to which he had been a

stranger all his hard life--friendship.

He felt friendship for Theriere! It was unthinkable, and yet the mucker knew that

it was so. Painfully he crawled over to the Frenchman's side.

Theriere!" he whispered in the man's ear.

The officer turned his head wearily.

Do youse know me, old pal?" asked the mucker, and Barbara Harding knew from

the man's voice that there were tears in his eyes; but what she did not know was

103

The Mucker