"I never guessed until that night. Then, as soon as I got over the first awful shock, I realized he was a madman. He talked incoherently—raved—shouted—threatened me with horrible things. I can't speak of them. Later, he quieted down a little, but that was after he had come down into the cabin to—to drug himself.... It was very terrible—that tiny, pitching cabin, with the swinging, smoking lamp, and the madman sitting there, muttering to himself over the glass in which the morphine was dissolving.... It happened three times before the wreck; I thought I should go out of my own mind."
She shuddered, her face tragic and pitiful.
"Poor girl!" he murmured inadequately.
"And that—that was why you were searching the beach so closely!"
"Yes—for the other fellow. I—didn't find him."
A moment later she said thoughtfully: "It was the man you saw watching me on the beach, I think."
"I assumed as much. Drummond had a lot of money, I fancy—enough to hire a desperate man to do almost anything.... The wages of sin—"
"Don't!" she begged. "Don't make me think of that!"
"Forgive me," he said.
For a little she sat, head bowed, brooding.