  CONCLUSION AND EPILOGUE. When the doctor, policemen, and prisoner had left the island, Ellison went up to his own house. Though it only wanted a few minutes of sunrise, the lamp was still burning in the sitting room. He pushed open the door and walked in. To his surprise Esther stood before him. She did not look into his face, but waited with downcast eyes for him to speak. He gazed at her for a moment, and then led her to a chair. "Esther," he said, kneeling beside her, "can you ever forgive me?" "Forgive you what?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "For the lie I told you. The lie that was the beginning of all this misery." "I forgive you. I had forgotten all about it. Now let me go. It is daylight, and I must get away before anyone sees me." "Go away? What do you mean? Where are you going to?" "I don't know—I don't care. But it must be somewhere where no one will know my name. You will find everything in order here, and Mrs. Fenwick knows all your wants. The boy is asleep in the room there. You will not let him even learn the story of my shame, will you?" He put his arm around her waist, but she put it off with a little shiver. "No! You must not do that now." "Why not? In God's name, why not?" "Because of what has happened to-night. I am the cause of it all. I know you cannot forgive me now; but oh, some day, for the child's sake, you may not think so hardly of me." He moved on to the sofa and tried to hold her, but she fell on her knees at his feet and burst into a storm of passionate weeping. "Esther, you are deceiving yourself. I have nothing to forgive. I love you as fondly now—nay, I am wrong, I love you more fondly now than ever. Fortunately I heard all that man said to you. I heard you refuse and repulse him. It was then that I interfered. You are as much my own true wife as you ever were. I love you still, and, as God hears me, I have never doubted you, not for one single moment." "You have never doubted me?" "Never, so help me God!" He took her in his arms and kissed her tears away. She did not repulse him this time, but clung to him like one returned from the dead. "Oh, my husband! my husband!" was all that she could say. "Now that I know you love me still, I can bear anything. Tell me, Cuthbert, all that has happened? Don't spare me." Without more ado he told her everything—who Murkard really was; how Merton had cherished such a deadly hatred of him; the loss of the pearl; Merton's return to the island, and all the events connected with that fatal night. With the exception of the murder he told her everything. When he had finished, she said; "And Murkard—where is he? My thanks are due to him." "He will never receive them, dearest. He is dead." "Dead!" she cried, in horrified amazement. "Oh, this is too horrible! How did he die?" "Merton killed him in the store." Her head dropped on to her hands, and again she sat white and trembling. "A thief and a murderer, and what did he want to make me?" "Hush, hush! you must never think of that "But, Cuthbert, you don't know all; you don't know how he fascinated me. I seemed to have no will at all when he was talking to me. When he looked into my eyes I had to do his bidding. I was very wicked and weak to listen to him; but try how I would to escape I could not get away." "He will fascinate no more women; he is safely under lock and key by this time. Now you must go to bed, and try to sleep, or you will be seriously ill after all this excitement. And think what that will mean for me." She stooped and kissed his forehead, and then, struggling with her tears, departed to her room. Ellison went out into the cool veranda. The sun was just rising above the horizon, and already the Kanaka cook was bustling in and out of his kitchen preparing breakfast for the hands as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Ellison descended the steps and went across to the store. With a feeling of intense awe he opened the door and passed in. Removing the blanket that covered the figure lying so stiff and cold upon the floor, he stood and looked down at the face he had grown to love so well. Poor Murkard, and yet rather happy, happy Murkard in his last great act of self- Shortly after breakfast a hand came to tell him that a police-officer desired to see him. He went out and asked the slim young official his business. "I have been sent across, Mr. Ellison, to see you regarding the prisoner we removed from here last night on a charge of murder." "Well, what about him?" "He is dead—drowned." "Drowned!" cried Ellison. "What do you mean? When was he drowned?" "Crossing the straits last night. We'd got him halfway across; my mate pulling, the prisoner sitting amidships, the doctor and myself astern. Suddenly he gave a yell, jumped up, and threw himself overboard before we could stop him. There and then he sank, for his hands were handcuffed behind him, you see; and—well, we've not "Good gracious!" For a few seconds Ellison was so stunned by this intelligence that he could hardly think, and yet when he did come to think it out he could not help seeing that even in this Fate had been very good to him. Except for the fact that he had killed Murkard, he had no desire for Merton's death, and as it was now, even that result had been achieved. Merton would trouble nobody again. He had gone to hear his verdict at a higher court than that presided over by any Queensland judge, and Ellison could not but own that it was as well. He thanked the police-officer for his intelligence, and went in to tell Esther. She received the news calmly enough. Indeed, it seemed as if she were almost beyond being surprised at anything. "We seem bereft of everything," she said at length; "friends, as well as enemies." "But we still have each other, and we have the little one asleep in there. Does that count for something, dear?" "It counts for everything," she said, and softly kissed his hands. EPILOGUE. Eighteen months or so ago I happened to be in Tahiti, the capital of the Society Group. I had business in Papeete, and, while walking on the beautiful Broom Road one day, who should I chance upon but Ellison and his wife, picknicking among the palms. We walked down to the town together and dined in company. Afterwards I was invited to a trading schooner lying in the harbour. "A beautiful boat," I remarked to her owner, when I had gained the deck. "Why, she's more like a Royal Cowes Yacht Squadron craft than a simple South Sea trader." "It is our home, you see," he answered. "The pearling station, after Murkard's death, grew distasteful to us, and as I was fortunate enough to be able to sell it to great advantage, I bought this boat. Since then we have made it our home, and our life is spent cruising about these lovely seas. It suits my wife and the boy admirably, and for that reason, of course, it suits me. Won't you come and see our son?" I followed him down the companion into the prettiest little cuddy it has ever been my good fortune to behold. Two large and beautifully "What a really beautiful child!" I cried, in an outburst of sincere admiration, "and pray what may be his name?" "Murkard," said the father quietly, and without another remark led me back on deck again. The name, and the tone in which it was uttered, puzzled me very considerably. But I was destined to be enlightened later on. That night, when we sat under the awning on deck, smoking, and watching the lights of Papeete glittering ashore, and only the gentle gurgle of the water rising and falling alongside disturbed our talk, Ellison told me the story I have here told you. When he had finished I felt constrained to say: "With a little alteration of names and places, what a good book it would make." "Wouldn't it," he answered seriously. "But my life's far too full of other interests now to write it." "Will you let me try my hand on it?" I asked eagerly. "If you like. But before you do it you must promise me two things." "What are they?" "That you will do my wife and Murkard justice." "Oh, yes! I'll promise that and more with pleasure. And the other?" "That you'll let me down as lightly as possible." "I'll promise that also." "Very good then; go ahead." I set to work, and in due time the book was written. The next time I met him was in Levuka, Fiji. The schooner was leaving for the Carolines the following morning, and I went on board to wish them God speed. Just as I was pushing off from the gangway on my return to the shore, Ellison, who with his wife alongside him was leaning on the taff-rail, called out: "Oh, I say! what about your book, my friend?" "It is finished." "Hearty congratulations. I wish you all good luck with it. And pray what do you intend its name to be?" 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"The volume is one of great practical utility, and may be used to advantage as an artistic guide book by persons visiting the collections of Italy, France, and Germany for the first time."—New York Tribune. New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue. TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Inconsistencies in the author's spelling, use of hyphens and other punctuation have been retained as in the original publication. Obvious typos and printer errors have been corrected without comment. In addition to obvious errors, the following changes have been made:
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