“Admirable!  Now, since that is true, suppose you and I make some sort of terms!  I’m tired of being jailed, even in a traveling jail.  I told you fairly I should try to escape; and so I shall.”

He needed no second look to catch the resolution in her glance.  “Our game is somewhat desperate, Madam, I admit,” said he, “I scarcely know whether you are in my hands or I in yours.  As I have already given you consideration, let us hope you will do as much for me, remembering at least the delicacy of my position.  I’m under orders; and I’m responsible for you.”

“Yes?” she rejoined.  “Now, as to what I suggest, it is this:  You shall leave the boat at Louisville or Cincinnati.  Your errand is already sufficiently well done.  You have got me out of Washington.  Suppose we set Cincinnati as the last point of our common journey?”

“But what then for you.  Madam?”

“As to that, I can not tell.  Why should you care?  Do not be concerned over details.  You have brought me into this situation.  I must escape from it in my own way.”

“You sting me deeply.  I’ve had to do this, just as an executioner may have to cut off a head; but a thousand times I ask your pardon.  A thousand times you, yourself, have made me ashamed.  Come, when we part, shall it not be as friends?  You have won my respect, my admiration.  I wish I were entitled to your own.  You’ve been perfect.  You’ve been splendid.”

“Look,” she said, without raising her eyelids.

He turned.  Dunwody was making his way toward them among the tables.

“My dear Senator,” said Carlisle, choking down his wrath as the Missourian reached them and bowed his salutations, “I have the greatest pleasure in the world in keeping my promise to you.  I am delighted to have you join our little party at this time.  You remember the Countess—­I would say, Miss Barren?”

“I have not so soon forgotten,” answered Dunwody.  His commanding eyes still sought her face.  Beyond a slight bow and one upward glance, she did not display interest; yet in truth a sudden shiver of apprehension came into her heart.  This was a different sort of man she now must endeavor to handle.  What was it that his straight glance meant?

It was a singular situation in which these three found themselves.  That she had asked the aid of this new-comer was a fact known to all three of them.  Yet of the three, none knew precisely the extent of the others’ knowledge.  Dunwody at least was polite, if insistent, in his wish to learn more of this mysterious young woman who had appealed to him for aid, yet who now made no further sign.  Who was she?  What sort was she? he demanded of himself.  God! if she was one sort.  And why should she not be that sort?  Did not the River carry many sorts?  Was not the army ever gallant?  What officer ever hesitated in case of a fair damsel?  And what fair damsel was not fair game in the open contest among men—­that old, old, oldest and keenest of all contests since this hoary world began?