“You really don't mean it,” said Luella severely, “and it's very wrong to say what you don't mean.”

“In society?” I asked blandly. “I'm afraid you're a heretic, L—— Miss Knapp.”

I blushed as I stumbled over her name. She was Luella to me by night and day, but I did not consider myself on a footing to use so thrilling a word in her presence.

“Don't be rude,” she said. “Everything has its place in society.”

“Even prevarication,” I assented.

“Even a polite consideration for the feelings of others,” corrected Luella.

“Then you might have some consideration for mine,” I said in an injured tone.

“But we're not in society,—not just now, that is to say. We're just friends talking together, and you're not to say what you don't mean just for the sake of pleasing my vanity.”

“Well, if we're just friends talking together—” said I, looking up in her face. I was seated on the footstool before her, and it was very entertaining to look at her face, so I stopped at that.

“Yes,” said Luella, bending forward in her interest.

“It was the bravest and truest and most womanly girl I ever knew or heard of. It's the kind a man would be glad to die for.”

I really couldn't help it. Her hand lay very temptingly near me, and I don't think I knew what I was doing till she said:

“Please let go of my hand.”

“But he'd rather live for her,” I continued boldly.

“If you don't behave yourself, I'll surrender you to Aunt Julia,” said Luella, rising abruptly and slipping to the curtains of the alcove in which we were sitting. She looked very graceful and charming as she stood there with one hand raised to the lace folds.

“Has she recovered?” I asked.

“What a melancholy tone! The poor dear was in bed all Tuesday, but she took advantage of her rest to amplify her emotions.”

“She has acquired a subject of conversation, at least.”

“To last her for the rest of her life,” laughed Luella, turning back. “'Twill be a blood-curdling tale by the time she reaches the East once more. And now do be sensible—no, you sit right where you are—and tell me how it all happened, and what it was about.”

I revolved for a moment the plan of a romance that would have, at least, the merit of chaining Miss Knapp's interest. But it was gone as I looked into her serious eyes.

“That's what I should like to know myself,” I confessed candidly. Then I added with pardonable mendacity: “I think I must have been taken for somebody else, if it was anything more than a desperate freak of the highbinders.”

“Are you sure they had no interest in seeking you?” asked Luella gravely, with a charming tremor in her voice.

Before I could reply, Mrs. Knapp's voice was in my ear, and Mrs. Knapp's figure was in the archway of the alcove.

“Oh, you are here,” she said. “I thought I heard your voices. Luella, your father wants to see you a minute. And how do you do, Mr. Wilton?”

I greeted Mrs. Knapp cordially, though I wished that she had delayed her appearance, and looked regretfully after Luella.

“I want to thank you for your heroism the other evening,” she said.

“Oh, it was nothing,” I answered lightly. “Any one would have done the same.”

“Perhaps—but none the less we are all very grateful. If I had only suspected that anything of the kind could have happened, I should never have allowed them to go.”

I felt rebelliously glad that she had not suspected.

“I blame myself for it all,” I bowed. “It was very careless of me.”

“I'm afraid so, after all the warning you have had,” said Mrs. Knapp.

“But as it turned out, no harm was done,” I said cheerfully.

“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Knapp absently. Then she spoke with sudden attention. “Do you think your enemies followed you there?”

I was taken aback with the vision of the Wolf figure in the grimy passage, a fiend in the intoxication of opium, and stammered for a reply.

“My snake-eyed friend made himself a little familiar, I'm afraid,” I admitted.

“It is dreadful that these dangers should follow you everywhere,” said Mrs. Knapp with feeling. “You must be careful.”

“I have developed eyes in the back of my head,” I said, smiling at her concern.

“I fear you need more than that. Now tell me how it all happened, just as you saw it. I'm afraid Luella was a little too hysterical to give a true account of it.”

I gave her the story of the scene in the passage, with a few judicious emendations. I thought it hardly worth while to mention Doddridge Knapp's appearance, or a few other items that were more precious to me than to anybody else.

When I had done Mrs. Knapp sighed.

“There must be an end of this some day,” she said.

“I hope the day isn't far off,” I confessed, “unless it should happen to be the day the coroner is called on to take a particular interest in my person.”

Mrs. Knapp shuddered.

“Oh no, no—not that way.”

Then after a pause, she continued: “Would you not rather attack your dangers at once, and have them over, than to wait for them to seek you?”

I felt a trifle uneasy at this speech. There seemed to be a suggestion in it that I could end the whole matter by marching on my enemies, and coming to decisive battle. I wished I knew what she was hinting at, and how it was to be done, before I answered.

“I haven't felt any particular disposition to hunt them up,” I confessed, “but if I could cut off all the heads of the hydra at once, it would be worth while. Anything for peace and quiet, you know.”

Mrs. Knapp smiled.

“Well, there is no use challenging your fate. There is no need for you to act, unless the boy is in danger.”

“Oh, no, none at all,” I replied unblushingly.

“And we'll hope that he will be kept safe until the danger has passed.”

I hoped so devoutly, and said as much. And after a few more words, Mrs. Knapp led me, feebly resisting, to Mrs. Bowser.

“Oh, Mr. Wilton,” said that charming dame, “my heart goes pit-a-pat when I see you, for it's almost like being among those dreadful highbinders again, and how could you bring the horrid creatures down on our dear Luella, when she might have been captured and sold into slavery under our very eyes.”

“Ah, Mrs. Bowser,” said I gallantly, “I ought to have known what to expect on bringing such a temptation before our Chinese friends. I do not see how you escaped being carried off.”

“Oh, now, Mr. Wilton,” exclaimed Mrs. Bowser, retreating behind her fan; “you are really too flattering. I must say, though, that some of them did make dreadful eyes at me, till I felt that I should faint. And do they really hold their slave-market right in the middle of San Francisco? And why doesn't the president break it up, and what is the Emancipation Proclamation for, I should like to know?”

“Madam,” I replied, “the slave-market is sub rosa, but I advise you to keep out of Chinatown. Some temptations are irresistible.”

Mrs. Bowser giggled behind her fan and was too pleased to speak, and I took advantage of the lull to excuse myself and make a dive into the next room where I espied Luella.

“Yes, you may sit down here,” she said carelessly. “I want to be amused.”

I was not at all certain that I was flattered to be considered amusing; but I was willing to stay on any terms, so we fell into animated conversation on nothing and everything. In the midst of this entertaining situation I discovered that Mrs. Knapp was watching us, and her face showed no easy state of mind. As I caught her eye she moved away, and a minute later Mr. Carter appeared with,—

“Excuse me, Miss Knapp, but your mother would like to see you. She and my wife have some conspiracy on hand.”

I was pleased to see that Luella did not take the interruption gratefully, but she surrendered her place to Mr. Carter, who talked about the weather with a fertility of commonplaces that excited my admiration. But as even the weather has its limits as a subject of interest and the hour grew late, I suppressed a yawn and sought the ladies to take my leave.

“Oh, must you go?” said Luella, rising. And, leaving Mrs. Carter to her mother, she walked with me to the hall as though she would speak with me.

But once more alone, with only the hum of voices from the reception-room as company, she fell silent, and I could think of nothing to say.

“It's very good of you to come,” she said hesitatingly.

My mind went back to that other evening when I had left the door in humiliation and bitterness of spirit. Perhaps she, too, was thinking of the time.

“It's much better of you to wish me to come,” I said with all my heart, taking her hand.

“Come on Saturday,” she said at last.

“I'm at your service at any time,” I murmured.

“Don't,” she said. “That's conventional. If you are to be conventional you're not to come.” And she laughed nervously. I looked into her eyes, and then on impulse stooped and kissed the hand I still held.

“It was what I meant,” I said.

She snatched her hand away, and as she did so I saw in the dim light that hid the further end of the hall, the figure of the Wolf, massive, dark, threatening, and my mind supplied it with all the fires of passion and hate with which I had twice seen the face inflamed.

Luella's eyes grew large with wonder and alarm as she caught on my face the reflection of the Wolf's coming. But as she turned to look, the figure faded away without sound, and there was only Mrs. Knapp appearing in the doorway; and her alarm turned to amusement.

“Oh, I was afraid you had gone,” said Mrs. Knapp. “Would you mind, Luella, looking after the guests a minute?”

Luella bowed me a good night and was gone.

“Oh, Henry,” said Mrs. Knapp, “I wanted to ask you about Mr. Knapp. Is your aid absolutely essential to his success?”

“I presume not, thought it would probably embarrass him somewhat if I should take ship for China before morning.”

As I held in the bank securities worth nearly three millions of dollars, I believed that I spoke within bounds.

“I suppose it would do no good to try to dissuade him from his plans?”

“It would take a bolder man than I,” said I with a smile at the audacity of the idea.

Mrs. Knapp smiled sadly in response.

“Do you think, Henry,” she asked hesitatingly, “do you think that Mr. Knapp is quite himself?”

My mind leaped at the recollection of the Wolf figure in the opium-dens. But I choked down the thought, and replied calmly:

“He certainly has a vigorous business head on his shoulders.”

“I wish you could tell me about his business affairs,” said Mrs. Knapp wistfully. “But I know you won't.”

“You wouldn't think much of me if I did,” I said boldly.

“It would be right to tell me,” she said. “But I mustn't keep you standing here. Good night.”

I walked down the steps, and joined my waiting guards with a budget of new thoughts and feelings to examine.

The three days that followed were days of storm and stress in the market; a time of steady battle in the Stock Exchange, of feints and sallies on stocks which we did not want, of “wash sales” and bogus bargains, of rumors on rumors and stratagems on stratagems—altogether a harvest season for the Father of Lies.

Doddridge Knapp fought for the control of Omega, and the Decker syndicate fought as stubbornly for the same end. I was forced to admire the fertility of resource displayed by the King of the Street. He was carrying on the fight with the smaller capital, yet by his attack and defense he employed his resources to better result. The weakness of the syndicate lay in its burden of Confidence and Crown Diamond. Doddridge Knapp had sold out his holdings of both at a handsome profit, but, so far from ceasing his sales of these stocks, as I had expected, he had only begun. He suddenly developed into a most pronounced “bear,” and sold both stocks for future delivery in great blocks. He was cautious with Confidence, but his assaults on Crown Diamond were ruthless. At every session he sold for future delivery at lower and lower prices, and a large contingent of those “on the Street” joined in the bear movement. Decker and his brokers stood gallantly to the defense of their threatened properties and bought heavily. Yet it was evident that Omega, Crown Diamond and Confidence together made a little heavier burden than even the El Dorado Bank could carry. In spite of their efforts to buy everything that was offered, Crown Diamond “futures” fell to forty, thirty, twenty-five, and even twenty, closing at the afternoon session at twenty and three-fourths.

But the King of the Street was less successful in his manipulation of Omega. Despite his efforts, despite the rumors that were industriously spread about of the “pinching out” of the great veins, the price continued to go up by leaps and bounds. The speculating public as well as Decker and Company were reaching out for the stock, and it was forced up ten and twenty points at a time, closing on Saturday afternoon at three hundred and twenty-five.

“This is merry war,” gasped Wallbridge, at the close of the last session. “I wouldn't have missed this for five years of my life. Doddridge Knapp is the boy for making the market hum when he takes the notion. By George, we've had a picnic this week! And last Monday I thought everything was dead, too!”

“Doddridge Knapp!” I exclaimed. “Is he in this deal, too?”

Wallbridge looked at me in a little confusion, and mopped his head with comical abandon. Then he winked a most diabolical wink, and chuckled.

“Of course, a secret's a secret; but when the whole Street's talking about it, you can't exactly call it a close-corporation secret,” he explained apologetically.

I assured the stout little broker solemnly that Doddridge Knapp was to know nothing of my dealings.

“I'll do anything for a good customer like you,” he gasped. “Lord, if it wasn't for the lying, where would the market be? Dead, sir, dead!” And Wallbridge shook his head merrily over the moral degradation of the business that chained his thoughts by day and his dreams by night.

I joined Doddridge Knapp at the office and confided to him the fact that the cat was out of the bag. The King of the Street looked a little amused at the announcement.

“Good Lord, Wilton! Where are your ears?” he said. “The Street had the whole story on Friday. Decker was sure of it on Wednesday. But I kept under cover long enough to get a good start, and that was as much as I expected.”

“How do we stand now?” I asked. I knew that our purchases had not been progressing very well.

“There's five hundred shares to get,” said the King of the Street thoughtfully; “five hundred and thirty-six, to be accurate.”

“That's not a very promising outlook,” I suggested, remembering that we had secured only four hundred shares in the whole day's struggle.

“Well, there'll be an earthquake in the Street if we don't get them, and maybe there'll be one if we do. Decker is likely to dump all his shares on the market the minute we win, and it will be the devil's own job to keep the bottom from falling out if he does.”

The King of the Street then gave some brief directions.

“Now,” he continued, “you are to be at the Exchange without fail, on Monday morning. I'll be there to give you your orders. Don't be one minute behind hand, or there may be Tophet to pay.” And he emphasized his words with an impressive growl that showed the Wolf's fangs.

“I'll be on hand,” I replied.

“Well, then, go,” he growled; “and see that you come with a clear head on Monday. Keep your thirst until after the game is over.”

A few hours later I was at the house of the Wolf, but I forgot to ask for Doddridge Knapp. Luella received me with apparent indifference that contrasted sharply with her parting, and I was piqued. Mrs. Knapp was gracious, and sailed between us before I had received a dozen words.

“Where are your spirits to-night?” she asked railingly. “Have you left them in lower Pine Street?”

“I have a heart for any fate,” I returned lightly. “Am I too grave for the occasion?”

“You're always under orders to be cheerful,” Luella broke in, “or at least to explain the reason why.”

“He can't explain,” retorted her mother. “Mr. Knapp won't let him.”

It struck me, on watching mother and daughter, that it was they who were grave. Luella gave an occasional flash of brightness, but seemed tired or depressed, while Mrs. Knapp appeared to struggle against some insistent sorrow. But presently we found a subject in which Luella roused her interest, and her bright mind and ready wit drove away the fancy that had first assailed me. Then some caller claimed the attention of Mrs. Knapp, and I was content to monopolize Luella's conversation for the evening. At last I was constrained to go. Mrs. Knapp was still busied in conversation with her visitor, and Luella followed me once more into the hall.

Again her animation left her, and she was silent; and I, on my side, could think of nothing to say. Then her deep gray eyes flashed upon me a look that sent my pulses throbbing, an indefinable, pleading glance that shook my soul.

“Can't you tell me—won't you tell me?” she said in a low tone that was the complement of the silent speech of the eyes.

“I wish I could,” I whispered.

“I know it must be right—it is right,” she said in the same tone. “But I wish that I might know. Will you not tell me?”

“I will tell you some day,” I said brokenly. “Now it is another's, and I can not. But it shall all be yours.”

“All?”

“Everything.”

In another moment I know not what I should have done, so stirred and tempted was I by her tone and look. But in an instant her manner changed, and she exclaimed in a mocking voice:

“Now I have your promise, so I'll let you go. You'd better not linger, or mama will certainly have some business to talk over with you.” And before I could touch her hand she was gone, and her laughing “good night” echoed down the hall.

I was puzzled by these changes of mood, and decided that Luella Knapp was a most unaccountable young woman. And then there dashed over me a sickening realization of what I had done, of what I had promised, and of how impossible it was that I should ever reveal to her the secret I guarded. I cursed the mad folly and crime of her father, for they stood between her and me. Yet under the subtle influence that she cast upon me I felt the bonds of duty relaxed and slipping away. I had now to confess to myself that I loved Luella Knapp. And she? I hoped and feared, and ran over in my mind every incident of my later visits that might tell in what regard I was held—the tones, the words, the manner, that ran from deep interest to indifference. And trying to untangle the skein, I was a good deal startled to feel a touch on my arm as I reached the sidewalk.

“Oh, it's you, Porter, is it?” I exclaimed, on recognizing my retainer. “Is Barkhouse here?”

“Yes, sir. An' here's Wilson with a message for you.”

“A message for me! From whom?”

Wilson took me aside, and thrust an envelope into my hand.

“That come to your room—about nine o'clock, I reckon,” he said. “Leastways, that's the first we saw of it. An' Mother Borton was there, an' she says she must see you to-night, sure. She wouldn't stay, but says you was to come down there before you goes to bed, sure, if you wants to keep out of trouble.”

I looked at the envelope, and in the flickering light from the street-lamp I could make out the address to Henry Wilton. By the handwriting and by the indefinable scent that rose from the paper, I knew it for a message from the Unknown who held for me the secrets of life and death.