indeed; no petty, squeamish lover whose weak heart sickens at removing a rival.”

“Give me until morning,” he replied, dry of throat, and pallid of face. “It is a terrible thing you ask, Dolores. Yet I dare not say the cost is too high. As for destroying these treasures, that I know is but a trick to try me. You could never go out into a new world and take a low station. That you would have to do if I set fire to that train.” He suddenly darted a look of fierce challenge at her, “There!” he cried. “The trial is yours!”

He flung down his torch, and the powder-train began to splutter and fizz. Dolores flashed a look of approval at him, and burst into a ringing, happy laugh. She kicked aside the torch, and trampled out and relaid the