way of the rock tunnel, came only the sigh and murmur of the crooning breeze, the softened plash of the tide on the shore, the scream of wheeling seabirds. All sound of the schooner had departed; there was no human note in the whole region.

Then, as the second chest was almost full, and Milo pulled the third and last along in readiness, from the secret gallery behind the Grove came the shouts and oaths of men, weary, footsore men, but men with animal appetites whetted by the day of bloody conflict. They could be heard at the great door in the painting of the “Sleeping Venus”; not knowing its secret their way was barred. But Stumpy’s hoarse roar could be heard calling them back to the ledge, and there was a note of menace in his tired tones. And mingling with his voice was the voice of a woman of the camp,