and ere any knew what his intention was he raised himself to his
feet, and lunged over the side of the boat, to disappear forever
into the green depths beneath--the coin had not been the 1875 piece.

The strain had exhausted those who remained to such an extent
that they lay half unconscious for the balance of the day, nor was
the subject referred to again for several days. Horrible days of
increasing weakness and hopelessness. At length Monsieur Thuran
crawled to where Clayton lay.

"We must draw once more before we are too weak even to eat," he
whispered.

Clayton was in such a state that he was scarcely master of his own
will. Jane Porter had not spoken for three days. He knew that
she was dying. Horrible as the thought was, he hoped that the
sacrifice of either Thuran or himself might be the means of giving
her renewed strength, and so he immediately agreed to the Russian's
proposal.

They drew under the same plan as before, but there could be but
one result--Clayton drew the 1875 piece.

"When shall it be?" he asked Thuran.

The Russian had already drawn a pocketknife from his trousers, and
was weakly attempting to open it.

"Now," he muttered, and his greedy eyes gloated upon the Englishman.