The lowly home where Ethel had passed the previous night was as a palace compared with this structure of beach-provided boards and shingles, over the threshold of which she was ushered, supported on the arm of her protector, Doctor Gifford Garnet. As she stepped over the sill, she had a sense of apprehension, that ran over her flesh like chills. They were the physical expression of fright. She was downright afraid of this dark, dank, dungeon-like room. Her emotion was emphasized by a realization that her escort was a mentally unbalanced, drug-mad man. Ethel, realizing something of the danger in her environment, had set herself to carry a bold demeanor. She would not let the man know either her fears or her suspicions. She meant to assume toward him an air of confidence.
There was a single window in the room, which had a wooden shutter, swung on leather hinges. This was closed, so effectively that not a particle of light filtered in from outside. It was only by the illumination through the open door that any light entered. Ethel hobbled across the room to the window, and threw open the shutter.
The setting sun threw its rays freely into the interior of the shack, as the girl looked about her. She saw tiers of bunks on either side. In the center of the room were a table and some rough chairs. An oil lamp stood upon the table. In a corner of the room were a cook-stove and the ordinary utensils for cooking. A curious conglomeration showed on some shelves at one side. In some of the bunks, there were blankets. Ethel regarded those blankets with satisfaction. They would mean warmth for the night, should she be compelled to spend it here.
The Doctor's nerves did not improve. While the girl dropped down to rest on one of the uncomfortable chairs, he walked the floor to and fro in silence. His muscles were twitching, and his eyes were wide-lidded, though the pupils were only pin-points.
Ethel watched him closely. Now, when at last her suspicions were aroused, she studied as if for her own salvation every aspect of this man, whom at first she had looked on as her savior, but now regarded with a dread unspeakable.
At last, to relieve the tension of her terror, she requested the Doctor to go out to look for a sail or any craft that he might hail. He went obediently enough. As soon as he had left the room, she moved her seat so that she could watch him.
He walked hurriedly to the boat, where, using water from the jug, he prepared another measure of the drug and shot it into his arm. When he had done this, he raised the vial that had held the pellet of morphia, and stared at its emptiness with affrighted eyes. Then, at last, with a cry of utter despair, he cast the bit of glass into the sea. The watcher understood that he had used the last atom of the drug. The knowledge filled her with new dismay. She had already learned something as to what must be the tortures of the drug-addict deprived of his supply.
After vainly scanning the horizon for a few minutes, Garnet returned to the hut, carrying the girl's blankets in one hand, the water jug in the other. When he had set the jug by the stove, he went to the cleaner-looking of the bunks, where he deftly arranged the blankets for his patient.
The sight of his preparations brought an increase of Ethel's distress at the prospect of a night to be passed in the company of the distraught man there before her. In her misery, she murmured passionate prayers for the coming of her lover to save her from the unknown perils of the night. Her situation seemed to her desperate beyond endurance. Yet, she could not fly from it by reason of her injured ankle. She had no recourse but to remain inactive, helpless, in an agony of dread. She could not take comfort from the thought that the man had always treated her with scrupulous respect. Now, he was no longer sane, and his past courtesy could offer no promise for the future. Had she but known, she might have been comforted by the fact that the long-continued secret indulgence in morphia had killed in him every desire and passion save one—a mad craving for the drug itself, and for more, and more.
Ethel urged the Doctor to share with her the food provided for them by Mr. Goodwin. But he refused, declaring that he was too greatly worried over the misfortune in which she was involved. The girl then decided that she would not dare to sleep while the crazed man was present with her. She determined to remain in her seat. She was so worn with fatigue that she did not dare lie down on the comfortable blanket, where she would be unable to resist falling asleep. So she sat huddled in a mood of sick misery, while the Doctor ceaselessly paced to and fro the length of the hut, like a wild beast caged.
Presently, Garnet halted, and insisted that Ethel should lie down in the bunk to rest. This she refused to do, and she persisted in her refusal when urged a second and a third time. But, after her third refusal, Garnet regarded her with an expression of utter despair. Then he spoke, in a changed voice, shaken with emotion.
"Miss Marion, I believe that you have become afraid of me!"
Having uttered the words, he sank down heavily on one of the vacant chairs. His breath came hard and fast. He seemed like a man about to suffer a stroke of apoplexy. Then, suddenly, he burst into tears.
The man's loud sobbing stirred the girl's sympathies. She even felt a little guilty, since her conduct had caused this final outburst of wretchedness. She was eager to soothe him. Certainly, he could not be dangerous now. She hobbled across the room toward him.
But the physician ceased his sobs at her approach. He sat erect and by a brusque gesture checked her advance. He spoke to her in a toneless voice.
"Miss Marion, when first you regained consciousness, you asked me to tell the story of your kidnapping. Owing partly to your condition at that time and partly to a certain dread of my own, I only gave you a part of the story. I promised to tell the rest later. That time has now arrived. I have waited for a moment when I should feel that you had lost confidence in me, for the moment when I should know that you no longer trusted me. I delayed because I hated to confess my weakness. I wished to appear before you still as a strong man. And let me assure you that you are not in any slightest danger from me. It is true, I am a nervous wreck. And yet, at this moment, my mind is clear. I realize that the time has come for me to make my confession to you. In the hope that it will render your judgment of me less harsh, I shall tell you my whole story. It begins back in the days when I was taking my course in the medical school."
Ethel was amazed over the change that had so abruptly taken place in the man. It seemed indeed that he had recovered, at least in some measure, his accustomed poise. He appeared less afflicted with nervousness in this new eagerness to talk. She returned to her chair and again seated herself. There she sat in rapt attention as she listened to the weird narrative of a great man's folly and degradation. As the tale unfolded, the girl's heart was like a lute swept by chords and dissonances of emotion. She was thrilled to horror, moved to strange sympathy; by turns fearful and sympathetic.
"I believe," the Doctor went on, "that I was a more than ordinarily hard-working student. Night a............