He could not hear the words—the distance was too great—but he could see them plainly. The wild shriek of Lady Kingsland would have been echoed by her terrified mother had not the artist clapped his hand firmly over her mouth.
"Darnation! Dry up, can't you? Oh, good God!"
He started up in horror, nearly upsetting the boat. He had seen the fatal blow given, he saw the body hurled over the railing, and he saw the face of the murderer!
A flash of moonlight shone full upon it bending down, and he recognized, in men's clothes, the woman who was to be his wife.
The assassin fled. As she vanished G. W. Parmalee looked up with a hollow groan, remained irresolute for an instant, shook himself, and took up the oars.
"We must pick up the body," he said, in an unearthly voice. "The waves will wash it away in five minutes."
He rowed ashore, lifted the lifeless form, carried it into the boat, and laid it across the mother's knee.
"We'll put for the 'Angelina,'" he observed. "If there's any life left, we'll fetch her to there."
"Her heart beats," said Mrs. Denover, raining tears and kisses on the cold face. "Oh, my child, my child! it is your wretched mother who has done this!"
They reached the "Angelina Dobbs," where they were impatiently waited for, and captain and crew stared aghast at sight of the supposed corpse.