The other three did not understand Howard’s situation. For some reason Forbes, it seemed, had not told his information (or suspicions), about the naval officer, and his single reference to them, at the time of the wedding, had passed over the heads of both the Joyces and of Mr. Willoughby. So they chattered on light-heartedly enough, until the meal was over, and Howard dismissed them to sleep.
A little later that night, when all the rest were sleeping, worn out by the excitement and arduous labors of the day, Dorothy slipped up on deck, where Howard was watching the dials of his accumulators as they slowly crept toward the maximum.
There was no moon, but the phosphorescence of the weed filled the air with a weird witch-light, in which the Seashark and floating wreckage bulked black. So strong was the gleam that Howard could see the dark circles under Dorothy’s eyes as she sank down by his side.
“There, there! sweetheart,” he whispered, gently. “You ought to be getting your beauty sleep. We’ll probably be picked up to-morrow, and you must look your best.”
But Dorothy refused to heed the badinage. “Oh! Frank, Frank,” she murmured, miserably. “I don’t want to be picked up. Can’t—can’t we put the rest ashore somewhere, and slip away—just you and I. When I think of what will happen—— Oh, Frank, I can’t bear it!”
Howard drew her toward him, and tilted up her face until he could look down into her troubled eyes. “Don’t be afraid, dear,” he murmured, “everything is going to come out right. It will take a little time perhaps, but it will all come right in the end. The Providence that has watched over us and brought us through so much will not fail us now.”
“But—but—to have you in prison, even for a day! Oh, Frank, I can’t bear it! You have saved Mr. Jackson’s life, rescued him, made him rich—surely he will not be cruel enough to——”
“Hush! Hush! dear. Jackson must do his duty. I wouldn’t have him fail in it on my account for the world. Besides, I must surrender in order to prove my innocence. Before, I did not have the money to send to Porto Rico for witnesses; now I have. There must be plenty of people down there who have seen the real husband of that poor Dolores Montoro. Money will bring them to New York. Once they see me they will know that I am not he—even though they may have identified my photograph. I ran away before only because I knew of no other way to reach them. Now that I have another way, I must take it.”
Dorothy was thoughtful for a moment. Then she nodded slowly. “You are right, Frank,” she murmured. “You always are. It will break my heart, but—it is the only way. I see that. It isn’t only your liberty I want; your honor must be cleared as well.”
“There’s my brave girl!”