That afternoon they boarded the yacht, and Katherine renewed her acquaintance with Jimmy Foote. Maas was also introduced to her, and paid her the usual compliments upon her engagement. Later she explored the yacht from stem to stern, expressing her delight at the completeness of every detail. The pleasure she derived from it, however, was as nothing compared with that of her lover, who never for one instant left her side.

“Some day,” he said, as they stood together upon the bridge, looking at the harbour and watching the variety of shipping around them, “this vessel will be your own property. You will have to invite whoever you like to stay on board her with you. Do you think you will ever let me come?” He looked into her face, expecting to find a smile there; but, to his astonishment, he discovered that her eyes were filled with tears. “Why, my darling,” he cried, “what does this mean? What is the reason of these tears?”

She brushed them hastily away, and tried to appear unconcerned. “I was thinking of all your goodness to me,” she replied. “Oh, Jack! I don’t know how I can ever repay it.”

“I don’t want you to repay it,” he retorted. “You have done enough already. Have you not honoured me, dear, above all living men? Are you not going to be my wife?”

“That is no return,” she answered, shaking her head. “If you give a starving man food, do you think it kind of him to eat it? I had nothing, and you are giving me all. Does the fact that I take it help me to repay it?”

What he said in reply to this does not come within the scope of a chronicler’s duty to record. Let it suffice that, when he went below with her, he might very well have been described as the happiest man in Japan. The history of the following fortnight could be easily written in two words, “love and pleasure.” From morning till night they were together, seeing everything, exploring the temples, the country tea-houses, spending small fortunes with the curio dealers, and learning to love each other more and more every day. In fact, there was only one cloud in their sky, and that was the question of what was to be done with Maas. Up to that time, that gentleman had shown no sort of inclination to separate himself from the party. Browne could not very well ask him to leave, and yet he had the best of reasons for not wanting him to go on with them. What was to be done? He worried himself almost into a fever to know what he should do. Then, almost at the last minute, Maas settled the question for them, not in an altogether unexpected fashion. Finding his host alone in the verandah of the hotel one evening, he asked outright, without pretence of beating about the bush, whether he might, as an old friend, continue to burden them with his society. Browne found himself placed in a most awkward position. Though he did not want him, he had known Maas for so many years, and they had always been on such a footing of intimacy together, that he felt he could do nothing but consent. He accordingly did so, though with scarcely the same amount of grace, that usually characterized his hospitality. Jimmy Foote, however, expressed himself more freely.

“Look here, Jack, old man,” said the latter to Browne, when he was informed what had taken place, “you know as well as I do that Maas and I were never the greatest of friends. I tell you this because I don’t want you to think I am saying, behind his back, what I would not say to his face. At the same time, I do think that you ought to have told him straight out that he couldn’t come.”

“How on earth could I do that?” asked Browne. “Besides being exceedingly rude, it would have given the whole show away. What possible sort of excuse could I have made for not wanting him on board?”

“I don’t know what sort of excuse you could have made,” replied Jimmy; “all I know is that you ought to have made it. You have other people besides yourself to consider in the matter.”

The deed was done, however, and could not be undone. For this reason, when the yacht said good-bye to the lovely harbour of Yokohama, and Treaty Point was astern, Maas stood upon the deck watching it fade away and drop below the sea-line.

“And now that we are on our way again, my dear Browne,” said Maas when the others had gone below, “what is our destination?”

“Of our ultimate destination I am not yet quite certain,” answered Browne, who was anxious to gain time to think before he committed himself. “But at first we are going north to have a look at the Sea of Okhotsk. My fiancée’s father has been residing on an island there for many years, and it is our intention to pick him up and to bring him home, in order that he may be present at our wedding.”

“In other words,” put in Maas, “you are conniving at the escape of a Russian convict from Saghalien. Is that so?”

Browne uttered a cry that was partly one of astonishment, and partly one of terror. He could scarcely believe he had heard aright. This was the second time, since they had been on board the yacht, that Maas had played him this sort of trick, and he did not want to be taken in again. Was the other really aware of what they were going to do, or was this, as on the previous occasion, a shot fired at random?

“My dear fellow,” he began, as unconcernedly as his excitement would permit, “what on earth do you mean? Help a Russian convict to escape? Surely you must have taken leave of your senses.”

“Look here,” said Maas with unusual emphasis, “what is the use of your attempting to keep a secret? Nature never intended you for a conspirator. You may not have guessed it, but I have seen for some considerable time past, long before we left Europe in fact, that there was trouble in the wind. Otherwise, why do you think I should have accompanied you to the East, so many thousand weary miles from Paris and civilization?”

“Because your health was bad,” Browne replied. “At least, that is what you said yourself. Was that not so?”

“My health is as good as your own,” the other answered. “No, Browne, I invented that excuse because I wanted to come with you; because I had some sort of notion of what you were about to do.”

“But, even supposing it should be so, how could you have known it?”

“I will tell you. Do you remember the night at the Amphitryon Club when you told me that you were thinking of taking a trip to the Farther East?”

Browne admitted that he did rem............