On reaching the forward cabin, I turned to the table to see if there happened to be a bite of anything to eat upon it. There always had been in days past. In the darkness I could not tell, and I opened the door leading aft to see if I could get a little light from the captain’s room. The creaking of the straining bulkheads blended with the noise from the deck and in the semi-darkness made by Benson’s lamplight streaming through a door well aft, I seemed to hear the voices of the murdered as the shadows moved upon the deck. A figure flitted past me toward the door on the other side, and for a moment I believed I saw a ghost. The next instant I sprang across the deck and seized it.

“Let me go, Mr. Gore. Don’t stop me,” said Miss Waters.

“Good God, are you still alive?” I asked, more for something to say than anything else.

She raised her hand to her head and leaned against the bulkhead, sobbing.

“Yes, I’m alive,” she said, controlling herself, “I was not taught the trade of murder.”

“I didn’t mean that,” I said, hastily, and I drew her to me. As I did so I felt a bandage upon her wrist.

“Are you hurt?” I asked. “Has he injured you by trying to cut you?”

“No, I did it myself. It was the only way I had—I used his knife on both arteries. But why torture me with it—”

I said nothing for a moment. The anguish she suffered was clear to me. She continued in a low, strained voice which wrenched me the more.

“He only insists that I belong to him, him alone—that is all—and he keeps me with him nearly all the time. I am his wife without any form of ceremony. Otherwise I’m well enough.”

“Yes, it’s either that, or worse,” I spoke haltingly, yet with an effort at comforting her.

“You might have killed me,” she sobbed, “you said you cared for me, and how did you show it—by letting me live like this?”

“It isn’t easy to kill the woman you love.”

“And, oh, I can’t go over the side. I can’t go down into that black void beneath. It seems so horrible to think of it, the endless blackness, the vastness of it, the loneliness of this great ocean. No, I must go on, I must live. I could have killed myself with the knife, but he found me and tied up the cuts—No, it’s no use—let me go—”

“I’ll let you go,” I said, “but you needn’t hurry away. There’s no one coming below for some time and you might as well talk with me while we have the opportunity. I intend to get you out of the ship in a short time.”

She listened and grasped the edge of the bulkhead.

“How can you? Can you get me into a small boat? They would certainly get us before we could row away.”

“I haven’t decided upon the manner yet,” I said, “but the time will be here shortly, and you must help me. There are many ways of getting clear when we get close to the beach.”

“But you are not to get ashore. You are to die with the rest. I heard him tell Johnson so the other night after the poisoning among the men. They are going to get rid of nearly everybody by leaving them upon the ship when she is set on fire. I’m sorry for you, as sorry as I can feel with my own trouble upon me, and I’m glad to be able to tell you, Mr. Gore.”

“You are telling me what I long suspected,” I answered, “but Benson is not a great sailor. He knows very little indeed of the ways of ships, although he seems to be informed very well upon matters of rascality. I think he’ll make a little mistake before he finishes. I suppose you are to go with him?”

“Yes, he will take me along until he tires of me, I suppose. Then I’ll find the same fate as the rest.”

“Has he told anything of his future plans?” I asked.

“Only that when you get them within thirty or forty miles of the coast, they will take to the small boats. They will get all the boats overboard and alongside, with what plunder they can carry. Then the half-dozen or more who are to get away will get into the small boats and get clear of the ship while Benson sets her on fire. He is to jump overboard and be picked up at once, and then they will row off so the rest can’t get to them.”

“It’s an excellent scheme, and does its developer great credit,” I said; “but how about the arms? Won’t the convicts fire on the boats when they find they are left aboard a burning ship?”

“I really don’t know about those details,” said Miss Waters. “I’m only telling what I overheard. If you think you can do something to stop them, I’ll do anything to help you. Don’t spare me in any way, and don’t mind what risk I have to take. Nothing could be any worse for me.”

“It’s a pretty bad business,” I agreed. “Brown is the only man left aboard I can trust to help us if anything turns up. Has Benson told you anything about himself?”

“Only that he has no money to get away with, nothing to pay his expenses to some foreign country, where he hopes to live quietly until the affair is forgotten. He is going to take the first vessel we meet to loot her and get what he may.”

“I see,” I said; “perhaps he will have a chance very soon. We are in the lanes of ocean travel, and it’s likely we’ll overhaul a vessel before many days pass. Maybe we will have a chance. I’m to do my share, I suppose he told you?”

“If I thought you would, I would not be talking to you. You may be afraid to die, as I am, but I don’t think you’ll turn pirate.”

Afraid to die? The sound of the words rang clear. Was I afraid to die? Good God! I who had faced some pretty hard happenings. I certainly didn’t want to die, but I had never thought of it in the way she put it. I didn’t rightly know whether I was afraid to die or not. It was so different for a man. I could go into a fight with a joyful heart, without a thought of dying; the possibility of death never occupied space in my thoughts. But to sit down in cold blood and kill myself to avoid some wrong thrust upon me by some one else? That was a different matter. I thought of O’Toole. He certainly was not afraid of anything in any form.

“No, I don’t know whether I’m afraid or not,” I said, slowly. “Certainly I don’t blame you for hesitating. You tried once when your courage was high, and now you admit you are afraid. I know I’m no braver than you.”

“You are good and kind, anyhow,” she answered. “I feel that you are sorry for me, that you will be my friend—”

“I shall certainly be your friend. I am your devoted friend, if you will have me for one,” I said, “and as for yourself, you have done the only thing you could do. As you say, you have not been schooled in the murder line.”

She held out her hand and I took it, holding it for some moments.

“Whatever has happened to you will make no difference in my feelings,” I said. “We must forget the past and deal with the present. You have done as much as any woman could, and that is all you could do. Stand by while I cast about for some means to get rid of the villains.”

“No, no—you must forget me—only as a friend,” she panted, trying hard to hold back the sobs. “I must live my life alone—and I must go now before he suspects me. If he knew I talked with you, he would kill you.”

I drew her to me and kissed her.

The next moment she had disappeared, going through the cabin and into the stateroom of the villain who even now stood on deck just overhead. I was tempted again to go on deck and stand near him, close to the rail. In the darkness a sudden rush and thrust from my knife, and no one might see the outcome. But, no, it would only make matters worse. The daylight would show the leader missing, and I could not hold the gang in check. I finally made my way to my room and turned in.