She was there, though, for he heard some one talking in a low tone, and that there was a low sob.
He waited no longer but knocked.
There was no reply.
He knocked again, and there was a rustling sound within which made his heart beat heavily, the blood rushed to his eyes, and a strange swimming affected his brain, as the horrible suspicion crossed his mind that it was not Bessy Studwick’s voice he had heard, but the same that he had listened to on deck.
Fighting against the dizzy sensation, and striving to become calm, he raised his hands and stood in the attitude of one about to hurl himself against the door and burst it from its fastenings; but something seemed to restrain him, and he knocked again, and this time plainly enough, he heard Hester’s voice in an excited whisper say,—
“He is there! pray, pray, don’t open the door.”
It never occurred to Dutch that his wife could not know that it was he who knocked, for the hard jealousy that he had taken to his heart suggested and thought but evil of the woman he had sworn to love and protect. It was not Bessy Studwick, then, who was with her, and they dared not open the door. He had given up before, and sought no revenge; this time he would have it if he died.
“Open this door,” he said in a low deep whisper, full of the rage he felt, for in his mad cunning he told himself that if he raised his voice or broke in the door, he would alarm the occupants of the other cabin.
There was a dead silence for a few moments, and he was about to make a fresh demand as his hands clenched, and the veins in his forehead stood out throbbing from the excess of his wild emotion.
“Will you open this door?” he hissed again savagely, with his lips close to the panel.