The wife flung herself into the breach once more with a self-sacrifice that wrenched her husband's heart. "He didn't want to, but I made him. I thought you had money, and I was mad at him for letting me go, so I tried to hurt him. I wanted him to marry me, but he wouldn't, and I took you. When it was over and I saw the kind of man you are I tried to love you—honestly I did, but I couldn't. You're so—I—I couldn't do it, that's all." She broke into a torrent of tears, holding herself on her feet by an effort. Her wretched sobbing was the only sound in the cabin for a time, then Barclay inquired:
"Well, what are you going to do?"
McGill turned to his wife, ignoring Barclay. "I guess I understand things pretty well now, and I'm beginning to see your side. Of course I never aimed to hurt you, Alice—I couldn't; but I aimed to kill this man, and I will if he stays here." Over his shoulder he flung out, quickly: "Oh, the gun won't help you none. You've got to go, Barclay."
"I'll go with him," cried Mrs. McGill, desperately. "If he goes, I'll go, too."
"That's exactly what you've got to do. You can't stay here now, neither of you. If he ain't able to take care of you, why, I will as long as I live, but you've both got to go."
"It's the best course under the circumstances," Barclay agreed, with relief. "We'll take the first boat—"
"You'll go to-day, now," said the husband, grimly, "before I have time to think it over."
"But where?"
"To hell! That's where you're headed."
"We can't go afoot," the woman cried in a panic.