“Where is Mr Cousin, our invalid?” he said, beginning to tremble now.
“Oh, he, monsieur, he insisted upon going out on the sands with his attendant Margot.”
“Which way?” gasped Stratton.
“Yonder, monsieur,” said the woman, pointing to the south-east.
“Here, get cognac; bathe his face,” panted Stratton, half wild now with horror; “and send someone for the nearest doctor. Quick. I shall be back soon—if I live,” he muttered as he rushed off through the deep, loose sand to find and bring back their charge before he encountered the Jerrolds on the beach.
He could not see far for the rocks that strewed the shore, which was apparently deserted. The sun beat down upon his head, and the effort to advance grew more painful, and yet he passed through maze after maze of stones fallen in huge masses from the cliffs above, without seeing a sign, till all at once, as he passed round one huge mass, beyond which lay scores of others covered with barnacle and weed, he heard voices, and stopped short, hidden from the group before him by one of the rocks.
His toil had been in vain, and a jealous, maddening pang shot through him.
There, some forty yards away, sat Barron upon a huge boulder, his back propped against a rock, and his attendant knitting a short distance back, while Miss Jerrold sat on the sands reading beneath a great sunshade. The admiral was smoking his cigar, looking down at Barron; Edie and Guest were together; and Myra, pale, gentle, and with a smile upon her lip, was offering the invalid a bunch of grapes, which he was gently taking from her hand.
“The past condoned,” said Stratton to himself; “the future—well, he is her husband, after all. Great Heavens, am I really mad, or is all this a waking dream?”
He staggered back and nearly fell, so terrible was the rush of horror through his brain, but he could not draw away his eyes, and he saw that Barron was speaking and holding out his hand—that Myra responded by laying hers within his palm, and the fingers closed upon it—fingers that not many hours back must have held Brettison’s throat in a deadly grip.