As soon as breakfast was over, the next morning after Lottie had been so miraculously cured, Captain Quitman arose from the head of the table and began to address his passengers as follows:

“My young friends, when I purchased the ‘White Rose of Memphis’ and placed her on this line, the height of my ambition was to make her the headquarters of pleasure-seekers. It was my aim to make it to the interest of travelers to patronize my boat, and to furnish excursion parties with facilities for enjoyment. I had always adhered to the idea that it was the duty of a steam-boat commander to protect his passengers against ruffians and thieves, and I mean to do so to the utmost of my capacity. It is with emotions of the deepest regret that I am compelled to inform my friends that, by some means unknown to me, shrewd pickpockets and robbers have managed to get aboard of my boat. One of my passengers has been robbed of a large sum of money, amounting, I believe, to something near ten thousand dollars; another has lost a splendid gold watch; and others have been deprived of jewels and other valuable articles. I therefore request every passenger to consent to be searched and to permit the state-rooms to be thoroughly examined; and, in order to prevent any attempt to conceal the stolen property, I ask all the passengers to fall into line now. Let the ladies form on my left and the gentlemen on my right.”

The captain had scarcely concluded his request before the two lines were formed, the ladies promptly arranging themselves to the left and the gentlemen on his right. A few of the passengers had retired to their state-rooms, but as soon as the wishes of the captain were transmitted to them they immediately appeared and took their places in the line. Napoleon and Navarre arranged themselves side by side at the head of the gentlemen’s line.

“That woman is the thief,” whispered one of the passengers, addressing the man on his left.

“That is exactly the conclusion that has possessed my mind,” was the reply.

“Let no one leave the line without permission until the search is ended; and I request Mrs. Demar and Miss Darlington to take their places in state-room number seven, and let the ladies go there, one at a time, and submit to a thorough search.”

The lady in the black domino left her place in the line, and, with a slow, measured tread, moved round and paused in front of Captain Quitman. This movement, being a plain violation of the explicit instructions of the captain, produced no small amount of curiosity, and led to innumerable exclamations of surprise.

“I would most respectfully ask you, sir, to wait a moment,” said she, in a voice which slightly trembled, but had a sweet, melancholy sound. “I have something to communicate, which, I doubt not, will have a tendency to change the programme which you have been pleased to mention. I must ask you to let me see the gentleman who had the misfortune to lose his watch.”

George Woodburry (a young man who had been personating George III.) then promptly stepped out from the line and confronted the black domino.

“Are you the gentleman whose watch was stolen?”

Mr. Woodburry merely answered by a slight inclination of the head, without opening his lips. She then drew from her pocket a large, double-cased gold watch to which was attached a massive chain. Holding it out toward him, she said:

“Is this your property, sir?”

“Yes.”

Then addressing the captain again, she requested him to produce the gentleman whose money had been stolen. Henry of Navarre stepped from his place in the line and confronted the black domino.

“I am the one who has been so unlucky as to lose a large sum of money.”

“Take a seat, sir,” replied the woman, “near that table there, and do me the favor to count the contents of this pocket-book carefully, and when you have finished inform me whose it is, and the amount of money in it.”

Navarre, taking the pocket-book, drew a chair to the table and began to count the money.

“Poor woman,” observed Captain Burk, “she has stolen the money, and now when she sees all chances of escape destroyed, she is going to confess and beg for mercy.”

“For my part,” replied Woodburry, “I am inclined to think she is crazy. I have noticed her singular conduct ever since we left Memphis, and I am unable to account for her actions upon any other theory.”

Nearly all the passengers felt a sentiment of compassion for the unfortunate woman, and several suggested the propriety of requesting Captain Quitman to let her off without exposure, inasmuch as she had restored the stolen property.

“I make a motion,” said Demar, “that we jointly petition the captain not to expose the poor unfortunate creature.”

The motion was unanimously adopted and Demar selected as commissioner to lay the petition before Captain Quitman. Meantime Navarre finished counting the money.

“This is my pocket-book, madame,” said he as he rose from the table, “and I find all my money in it, just as it was when it was stolen.” Then, handing Captain Quitman a little paper box, she said:

“In this box, sir, you will find all the other stolen articles, which you will oblige me by returning to the owners.”

The captain received the articles and instantly delivered them to the parties from whom they had been filched; then, addressing the mysterious woman, he said:

“Madame, the circumstances just developed force me to the performance of a very painful duty which I would gladly shun, but I must place you under arrest.”

“Captain Quitman,” said Demar, as he advanced to the spot where he stood, “I am requested by a large number of your passengers to inform you that it is their wish that this unfortunate woman should be forgiven and dismissed without exposure. We must remember that the most prominent trait in our great Saviour’s character was His boundless mercy toward malefactors. When He was bleeding on the cross, suffering the agonies of death for the sins of fallen man, He spoke the words of pardon to the poor thief who was dying by His side. Now, in humble imitation of the merciful example set us by our great Redeemer, let us pardon this poor unfortunate woman, and bid her go and sin no more.”

“Doctor Demar,” said Captain Quitman, “nothing would gratify me more than to comply with the wishes of you and your friends; but the duty which I was performing is one not to be avoided by me unless the request shall be endorsed by the parties whose property was stolen.”

“We indorse the request most willingly,” said Navarre.

“I most heartily join in that request,” said George Woodburry.

“Madame,” said the captain, “you have heard the noble expressions of compassion which have just been made in your behalf, and I am happy to be permitted to speak the words of pardon to you. You will be permitted to remain in mask, and no further effort will be made to expose you, but you must leave this boat when we arrive at Vicksburg.”

“Captain Quitman,” began the strange woman, “for the manifestations of mercy and forgiveness so generously expressed by these kind ladies and gentlemen, I am profoundly grateful; but I must be pardoned for saying that while I appreciate the generosity that prompts the offer, I do not ask or wish any mercy from these good ladies and noble men. When I want mercy, I will dispatch my supplication to a higher tribunal, where the secrets of all hearts are known, and where good and bad deeds are correctly recorded. I am by no means ignorant of the old legal maxim that holds the possessor of stolen goods responsible for the theft, until such possession is explained by competent evidence. I do not deny the fact that a prima facie case has been made out in this instance against me; nevertheless, I am not the thief. You were correct, indeed, when you concluded that you had a shrewd thief aboard of this boat. I can assert of my own knowledge, that a demon is among you, whose black soul is steeped in crime, an inhuman monster, who neither fears God, man nor Satan.

“I trust that my good friends will pardon me for using such strong language—I have borrowed it from Shakespeare’s ‘Richard III.’ It was suggested to my mind by the striking resemblance between the bloody King and this diabolical monster—this lapper up of innocent blood—this destroyer of confiding virtue—this cruel fiend whose hands are red with blood—whose soul is stained with perjury. This false, bloody villain is named Benjamin Bowles, and here he stands.”

As quick as thought she sprang forward before the sentence had been half uttered and tearing away Napoleon’s mask, there stood Ben Bowles, pale but defiant as ever, while anger and hate blazed from his eyes. Half a dozen ladies fainted, others fled to their state-rooms, while the men stood still, perfectly stupefied with astonishment. Henry of Navarre then slowly moved round and confronting Bowles, while his arms were folded across his breast.

“Mr. Bowles! you and I have met before to-day. A duty which I owe to society and the laws of my country compels me to take a step which will somewhat interfere with your pleasure excursion. The grand jury at Memphis have decided that you committed a cruel murder upon a little boy named Bramlett. Now you will have to abandon your little pleasure trip and go with me back to Memphis. If they do not hang you for the murder of young Bramlett, you can then stand your trial for your cowardly attempt to assassinate Mrs. Demar. You know we can take the train at Vicksburg, and return to Memphis.”

“I know you very well, Harry Wallingford, and am always glad to meet you. You would be glad to create the impression that you are a man of courage, but I happen to know that that you are a coward. I despise and defy you, and am sorry I cannot employ words sufficiently insulting to induce you to fight.”

“I have too much self-respect, Mr. Bowles, to resent an insult offered by men of your sort. The fact is, I pity you, for the awful situation in which you are placed, and so far as I am individually concerned, I mean to place you in the hands of the law, and leave you to deal with God and your own conscience.”

“Indeed, sir, that is exceedingly kind in you; but I must be permitted to make some disposition of you, since you have been so mindful of my comfort. You say you are going to place me in the hands of God—the law—my conscience, and the grand jury, and how many other distinguished individuals have you chosen to act as my guardian. I flatter myself that I shall be able to make a better disposition of you, than you have promised to make of me; because I have concluded to make hell a present of your cowardly soul, so you will not be annoyed with so many masters. I think I shall be able to make a better job this time than I did when I clipped your left wing at Memphis.”

As Bowles uttered the last sentence, he snatched a large navy revolver from under his coat, and cocking it as he brought it round, leveled it at Wallingford’s breast; but the lady in the black domino, who was standing near, seized his arm and instantly jerked it round; a short scuffle ensued—the loud report of the pistol rang out through the saloon—a cloud of blue smoke gushed up—a column of red flame blazed out—a loud scream escaped the mysterious woman’s lips, and she fell bleeding into Navarre’s arms. As the body of the lady dropped forward against Navarre’s breast, he saw a crimson stream gush out from her left side and trickle over his vest. As her head fell back across his arm her mask fell off, and her dark brown hair dropped unconfined about his shoulders.

“Merciful God!” exclaimed Wallingford, “it is Viola, and the cruel villain has killed her!”

As soon as Bowles fired the pistol he darted quickly through a side door, and ran rapidly toward the front end of the boat, evidently intending to leap into the river and effect his escape by swimming to the shore.

When Wallingford made the startling discovery that it was Miss Bramlett’s blood that spurted against his breast, thoughts of revenge instantly filled his mind. Gently laying the bleeding girl on a sofa, he dashed through the saloon, reaching the head of the stairs that led from the middle to the lower deck, just as Bowles arrived on the lower floor. Making a tremendous spring, he leaped down in season to catch the fugitive before he had time to leap overboard.

As soon as Wallingford leaped on the lower deck, he seized hold of the sleeve of Bowles’ coat, and called the deck hands to assist in arresting the murderer. A stalwart Irishman hurried forward intending to render the aid, but Bowles, who still held the pistol in his hand, leveled it at the man’s head and fired. The bullet grazed the man’s temple, knocking him down, which induced the other deck hands to believe that their comrade was killed; consequently they all beat a precipitate retreat, leaving Wallingford to fight it out alone.

Bowles knew that his only chance to effect his escape was to disable his adversary and leap into the river before assistance could come from the saloon; hence he attempted to shoot Wallingford, which he would have succeeded in doing but his hand was knocked up just as his finger touched the trigger, which caused the ball to fly harmless overhead.

The instant Bowles succeeded in disengaging himself from Wallingford’s grasp, and just as Demar reached the floor, the fugitive leaped into the river and began to swim toward the shore, leaving the pistol on the floor. Wallingford seized the pistol and commenced firing at Bowles, who kept diving under the water in order to dodge the bullets which were whistling in close proximity to his head.

“The White Rose” at that time was running close to the shore. Bowles was an expert swimmer, and it was very plain that, unless prevented, he would easily effect his escape. He had reached a point at least thirty yards from the boat before Wallingford became convinced that all of his shot had missed his man. Throwing off his coat and boots, still holding the pistol in his hand, Wallingford plunged into the water, and set out in pursuit of the escaping outlaw.

“Turn her head in toward the shore, Mr. Haliman, as quick as you can!” cried Captain Quitman, who stood on the hurricane deck; “don’t lose a moment; that foolish boy will be drowned if he attacks that huge villain in the water.”

“It is somewhat dangerous, captain, to attempt to land her there,” replied Mr. Haliman; “we might get her aground.”

“Let her get aground, Mr. Haliman; I had rather sink her than to see that boy drowned by such a monster as Bowles. Go ahead on the starboard, and hold steady on the larboard; point her head toward that tall tree yonder, and stick her nozzle in that sand-bank—quick, quick, Mr. Haliman!”

After Demar had done all he could to dissuade the rash young man from venturing to tackle such a giant while in the water, and being unable to recall him, he threw off his coat and plunged into the river, determined to save the life of his kinsman, or perish with him.

The passengers crowded the hurricane deck and watched the approaching struggle with breathless anxiety.

Wallingford continued to gain on his hated foe, while thoughts of revenge crowded all prudence or fear from his breast. He was thinking of the blood that had spouted against his breast from Viola’s side.

Mr. Haliman, owing to the treachery of the current, was encountering some difficulty in bringing his boat round to the shore, and, despite his vigorous efforts to drive her nozzle on the sand-bank, she swung round and began to drift further down.

Demar soon became convinced that he would not be able to overtake Harry in time to render any assistance. Consequently he began to call to Wallingford, begging him to wait until he could get to him; but the imprudent boy dashed forward without heeding the call. He might as readily have checked a tornado with a lady’s fan as Harry Wallingford, by reminding him of the danger into which he was rushing.

When Bowles became convinced that he would be overtaken before he could reach the shore, he slackened his efforts, and merely exerted sufficient motion to keep himself on the surface, being, no doubt, conscious of the great advantage which his superior strength would give him over his adversary in a duel fought in the water.

When Wallingford had arrived within twenty feet of his enemy, he began to move obliquely to the left, so as to come up where he would have the advantage of the current. Bowles turned round and leisurely floated on the surface of the water, eying his pursuer as if he were anxious to get hold of him; but Wallingford began to swim round the desperado. When he came up within six feet of him, he made a sudden dash forward and attempted to strike him on the head with the pistol which he still held in his hand, but at that instant the bright blade of a long dagger gleamed in the rays of the setting sun, as the arm of the outlaw descended toward Wallingford’s body.

A suppressed scream escaped the lips of a dozen ladies who witnessed the strange duel from the hurricane deck of the “White Rose,” as they saw the glittering steel being driven into Wallingford’s body.

Then commenced a hand-to-hand struggle, one using the pistol as a club, the other striking rapidly with the dagger; every now and then both parties would for a moment disappear under the water, then rise to the surface, grappling each other in a deadly embrace. Stains of blood began to appear on Wallingford’s shirt, and blood was streaming over his face.

Demar, finding that his efforts to render aid by swimming were fruitless, turned his course and went toward the yawl. Leaping into it, he urged the four men to pull for dear life, promising a handsome reward to the oarsmen if they could get to the combatants in time to save Wallingford’s life. After the combat had been continued for two or three minutes the parties separated for a moment, as if by mutual consent, in order to get a little breath, and to maneuver for advantage. Only a few seconds elapsed, however, before Bowles began to advance toward his antagonist, being anxious, no doubt, to end the combat before the yawl could come to Wallingford’s assistance, which was now not very far away. The two men now began to swim round each other, each seeking to get the benefit of the current. A scuffle then ensued, but here Wallingford’s activity stood him in good stead, for he managed to give a sudden twist, disappearing under the water, while Bowles swam round, watching the spot where Harry had gone under. But no little amount of astonishment was that which Bowles felt when he saw his wily foe rise up at least twenty feet away. Wallingford was up the stream, which circumstance would enable him to make a successful plunge, as he would be coming with, instead of against, the strong current.

The pilot had by this time succeeded in driving the nozzle of his boat against the bank, but in consequence of the treachery of the current, he had been compelled to strike the shore nearly a hundred yards below the point first designated by the commander.

The spectators were horrified to see that Wallingford’s face was covered with blood, and when he raised his body above the water they could see the blood spouting from a dozen wounds on his neck, face and shoulders. For several seconds he paused, as if endeavoring to take a little breath; then, giving his head a sudden shake as if to dash the bloody hair back from his face, he raised his body high up out of the water, and, quick as lightning, darted on his adversary, dealing him a tremendous blow on the back of the head with the butt end of the pistol. The sharp point of the hammer went crashing like a bullet through the villain’s skull, and the body of Ben Bowles sank, never to rise again until it and his soul were separated. The lifeless body of the desperate outlaw was found ten days afterward, floating in the water thirty miles from the spot where it and the soul parted. Wallingford, being completely overcome with fatigue and the loss of blood, was incapable of making any further exertion. He fell off of the piece of timber and disappeared under the water, but as he came up a few seconds afterward, Demar seized him by the wrist, as he was sinking the second time, and lifted him into the yawl, when he fell insensible on the floor. The lifeless body of the rash young man was hurriedly conveyed to a state-room on the “White Rose,” where Doctor Plaxico was instantly summoned to take charge of the case.

“There is where the danger lies,” said Plaxico. “The dagger that inflicted that wound penetrated the cavity of the lungs, and internal hemorrhage has resulted.”

Lottie, who had at all times been famous for her courage and self-possession under adverse circumstances, was now completely mastered by her grief. As soon as she recovered her self-possession, she implored the doctor to tell her the very worst.

“You need not be afraid to tell me the truth, doctor. Tell me candidly, is my brother mortally wounded or not?”

“Mrs. Demar, it is impossible for me to give anything like a reliable opinion just now, but, to be frank with you, I fear we may expect a fatal result.” Then, addressing Demar, he said, “Go to Miss Bramlett without delay and examine her wound, and see if anything can be done for her.”

“What a pity it is that such a pretty girl should be murdered by such a fiend as Ben Bowles!” observed George Woodburry, in a whisper to Captain Burk.

“Yes,” replied the captain; “she has lost her life in the attempt to save Wallingford.”

“Were they not engaged to be married?”

“Yes, though it was thought by Miss Bramlett’s friends that she had committed suicide in New York nearly a year ago. There appears to be some strange mystery connected with this business.”

“I wonder if she knew that Navarre was Harry Wallingford in disguise?”

“I am inclined to think she did; but I am of the opinion that he did not know that the lady of the black domino was Miss Bramlett.”

“What a strange and fatal coincidence it is that they should have met here, to die at the same time and place, both murdered by the same desperate villain!”

“Indeed it is!”

“Is Miss Bramlett dead?” inquired Captain Quitman, who was watching attentively near the door.

“No,” replied Demar, “and I am exceedingly glad to be able to inform you that she is not going to die from any cause now existing. Her wound is not at all of a serious character, though she has received a very severe shock; she has entirely recovered from its effect, and is now soundly sleeping, under the influence of an opiate, and I think it is safe to predict that she will be as well as ever in less than a week. The ball struck a rib, glancing round and making its exit just to the left of the spine, inflicting merely a slight flesh wound.”

“Heaven bless you, Demar, for this good news!” exclaimed Captain Quitman, as he seized the surgeon’s hand.

“Go in and see Wallingford immediately, and I pray to God to enable you to bring us such good news from him!”

As soon as Demar went into the room he inquired of Plaxico the condition of the patient.

“Bad enough, Heaven knows!” was the answer. “He is totally unconscious—fever rising—respiration difficult—left lung gorged with blood, and every symptom most unfavorable. That stab under the shoulder-blade is the dangerous one. Demar, you must get some reliable nurse to remain with Miss Bramlett all the time, and let it be distinctly understood that she is to be closely watched—if your wife would undertake the task, I should be very glad.”

“What do you mean, Plaxico? have I not just told you that Miss Bramlett is scarcely hurt at all—she will be able to get up by to-morrow morning. Where is the necessity of such vigilant nursing.”

“That poor girl will commit suicide if Wallingford dies. I think the chances are about a thousand in favor of a fatal result, to one of recovery. You must not lose sight of the fact that Miss Bramlett did on a former occasion contemplate suicide, when she thought Wallingford was hopelessly ill; and you may be assured she will again make the attempt if he dies, which I honestly believe he will do inside of forty hours! It would be advisable to keep her in ignorance of his condition until we know exactly what is to be the result; and I shall depend on you and your wife to do it.”

“I think you will find that rather a difficult task, for the very first word she uttered after she recovered from the swoon was an inquiry about Wallingford; and she will be sure to ask about him as soon as she awakes.”

“We must resort to strategy; and a little deception, under the circumstances, would be perfectly justifiable—you may tell her that I say Wallingford is not dangerously hurt; and if the recording angel has no worse crimes set down against me in the great Day of Judgment, I shall not fear the result.”

Demar and Lottie watched by Miss Bramlett’s bedside during the night, while Plaxico, at his own earnest request, was left alone with Harry, where he sat during the whole night, watching with an anxious eye every movement of his patient.