"Then put George Lance in irons for the murder of his own child."
He started, and looked intently into my face.
"He threw the child overboard within half an hour of its birth."
"Then, Doctor," he answered, slowly, "it seems that he does not mean to marry her."
"Most certainly not. I gave up that hope long ago."
"He will cast her adrift to live this thing down as she can, I suppose."
"Yes, as he says, to live her life as she likes while he lives his."
"I will not iron him, doctor; for that would mean arrest, a trial, and publicity. Where is he now?"
"In his room, drunk and defiant."
Dunbar threw off his long oilskin coat, doffed his sou'wester, and descended the cabin stairs; I followed, and my wife, standing in the open doorway of Ella's room, beckoned to me.