Doctor Garnet, seeing the effect made upon the girl by the conclusion of the story, did not approach her or try to relieve her, as had been his wont. At the moment he felt himself too low, too despicable, to lay his hands on this fair girl, even as a physician. Moreover, he knew that it would not be long ere she recovered her calm. Indeed, only a few minutes elapsed before Ethel had passed through the crisis of her emotion. Her mind clear again, she stared at the man with an unconcealed repugnance, under which he cringed. She thought with dismay of the dreadful thing Doctor Garnet had done. She even wondered now with new distress as to what her friends must have thought concerning her secret departure. It seemed to her that the truth was too fantastic a thing to be credited by the world at large. It would scoff at this explanation of a young girl's sailing for days with a man, practically alone, on her own yacht. She shuddered at thought of the slanders sure to be her portion. How her father would grieve over this disgrace of his daughter! How Roy——Appalled, she thrust the terrifying thought from her mind.... And there was the murder of the caretaker! Would the public not believe her an accomplice, by consent at least, in that forcible holding of him to the engine?
Ethel's thoughts veered to Roy again. But, now, there was something of comfort in her musing. It occurred to her that he at least would believe the truth, though all the rest of the world should mock at it as a lie. Besides, there was the message she had thrown into the sea for him, which she had seen picked up by the fisherman. There was no doubt in her mind now that Roy had received it. There came a little glow of courage in her heart as she reflected that even at this very moment he was searching desperately for her.... Had she been outside the cabin just then, she might have seen the lights of The Hialdo, on which her lover was being carried to Beaufort, there to receive the news of her having left Ichabod's Island alive.
A new courage for herself left her free to feel compassion toward the miserable being who had done her such grievous wrong. She could guess in some measure from the man's lined and haggard face and twitching body how great was his suffering and remorse. From the fact that he had made such a full confession of his guilt, she knew that he would make every restitution in his power. Sympathy for him, added to sympathy for herself, proved too much for her self-restraint. Woman-like, she hid her face in her arms outstretched on the table, and wept.
After a little while, the fit of weeping ended. The girl brushed away the tears, and again sat erect. Then, for a long time, neither she nor the man opposite her moved or spoke. What, indeed, was there for her to say to him who had made her his victim? She had not the heart to reproach him. She could find no word of comfort. It seemed to her that there could be no assuagement of his misery—that he were better dead. If he lived, he must be a fugitive from justice, or, if captured, he must be tried and condemned for murder. Or he might end his days in a mad-house. Surely, death were preferable.
But Ethel knew that Doctor Garnet, despite her earlier belief, was not mad. Notwithstanding the tortures he endured, his narrative to her had revealed a mind lucid and sane. She wondered suddenly if, after all, it might be possible somehow to save him from the law's penalty? Yet, the damning evidence of the murdered man in the wreck of the yacht could not be concealed. The consequence of it would be that there could be no safety for the guilty one—at least on this continent.
That last phrase brought inspiration to the girl. There flashed into her mind a thought of another continent, where death was riding ruthless over countless thousands. There, under a new identity, this miserable creature might return to his manhood, might once again exercise his great skill in behalf of suffering humanity, might indeed atone for the past, might win a martyr's crown.... If he could but be smuggled out of the country!
It was hours past midnight now; a ghostly trace of dawn showed in the eastern sky. The physician, it was evident, was fighting desperately against the anguish induced by his abstinence after over-indulgence in the drug. But, presently, he noted through the open doorway the lightening of the horizon. Once again, now, he spoke to Ethel.
"Miss Marion, it's near daylight and the wind is still holding to the same course it was blowing yesterday. I see little chance of getting away from this place until there is a change. It is, I should judge, about twenty miles to Portsmouth. With your permission, I shall set out for there at once, in order to procure a boat and then return to you. I'm sure that I can make it. I shall be spurred on by two of the strongest incentives: one is my anxiety in your behalf; the other—for I shall be frank with you—is my anxiety to reach a physician. I know that unless I can secure relief within a few hours I shall become insane."
He paused for a moment, and then added in a voice surcharged with emotion:
"This has been a terrible night. It was a horrible ordeal for me to make my confession to you. But now I feel the better for it. I have fought my hardest to retain my self-control, and I have succeeded thus far. Now, if you can only continue to be brave for a few hours, I'll have you safely on your way home."
"But do you consider that you are equal to the trip, Doctor?" Ethel inquired doubtfully. "Twenty miles is a long, long distance for one in your state of body and mind. Oh, how I wish my ankle was fit, so that I could stand the journey! But, of course, you most certainly have my permission, Doctor Garnet. That is, on one condition."
"And what is that condition, Miss Marion?"
"I want you to go............