Waring looked searchingly at him. 'Tell me the truth,' he said, 'has the girl no boat?'
'No.'
'Will any one go to rescue her; does any one know of the castle?'
'Not a human being on this earth.'
'And that aunt,—that Jacob?'
'Didn't you guess it? They are both dead. I rowed them out by night and buried them,—my poor old sister and the boy who had been our serving-lad. The child knows nothing of death. I told her they had gone away.'
'Is there no way for her to cross, to the islands or mainland?'
'No; there is a circle of deep water all around the castle, outside.'
'I see nothing for it, then, but to try to save your justly forfeited life,' said Waring, kneeling down with an expression of repugnance. He was something of a surgeon, and knew what he, was about. His task over, he made up the fire, warmed some food, fed the old man, and helped his waning strength with the contents of his flask. 'At least you placed all my property in the dug-out before you set me adrift,' he said; 'may I ask your motive?'
'I did not wish to harm you; only to get rid of you. You had provisions, and your chances were as good as many you had had in the woods.'