"I am Mrs. Cromwell, sir."
"You! It is not possible!"
"Mother tells the truth," put in Bob. "What do you want?"
"You are the wife of Leon Cromwell?"
"I am," said the woman.
"Heaven be praised! Who brought you to me?"
"I brought you to our cottage," returned Bob. "You lay unconscious on the rocks."
"It is the work of Providence," murmured the sufferer. "I was on my way hither when the storm overtook the Mary Lee. I—I—a drink—I am fainting!"
Water with brandy was brought and the man revived a little. He glared strangely at Mrs. Cromwell.
"I must speak quickly, for I am dying—I know it, feel it. I was sick on board; that's why I know. The doctor said I couldn't live, and the storm has only hastened matters. I want to talk to you about your husband."