"By God! I must kill you!" he said, and his voice was whispering like the sea's. She heard him; but she made no movement upward of her hands, though the pressure on her throat was terrible to bear. She closed her eyes and prepared to die. The thought slipped into her mind then that it would be good to have rest at last from the ache and storm of life. That was the message the sea was whispering.
"Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!"
After a long while she opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the same chair she had previously risen from. Bramham's broad back was before her, but she could see Evelyn Carson leaning heavily against the wall like a drunken man, and Abinger seated in another chair delicately wiping his lips. His scar had opened, and blood was trickling down it. The silence was broken by Bramham's voice—quite calm and pleasant.
"If you want to kill each other, take a brace of revolvers and go out and do it decently somewhere in the open, where it won't make a mess—killing Miss Chard, however, is quite another matter."
Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly:
"She can live—if she wants to"—he gave her a look that lashed across her face like a whip, leaving it distorted. "Let them both live, and be damned to them!"
The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died away.
"Well! you fellows from home—!" he began, and looked from face to face. Abinger continued to wipe blood delicately away, but he did not wipe the sneer from his lips. The girl had the face of a little tired, weeping child: the sight of it turned Bramham's heart to water. He put out a hand to Carson, appealingly:
"God! Karri, what is it?"