“No, I did it myself. It was the only way I had—I used his knife on both arteries. But why torture me with it—”
I said nothing for a moment. The anguish she suffered was clear to me. She continued in a low, strained voice which wrenched me the more.
“He only insists that I belong to him, him alone—that is all—and he keeps me with him nearly all the time. I am his wife without any form of ceremony. Otherwise I’m well enough.”
“Yes, it’s either that, or worse,” I spoke haltingly, yet with an effort at comforting her.
“You might have killed me,” she sobbed, “you said you cared for me, and how did you show it—by letting me live like this?”
“It isn’t easy to kill the woman you love.”
“And, oh, I can’t go over the side. I can’t go down into that black void beneath. It seems so horrible to think of it, the endless blackness, the vastness of it, the loneliness of this great ocean. No, I must go on, I must live. I could have killed myself with the knife, but he found me and tied up the cuts—No, it’s no use—let me go—”
“I’ll let you go,” I said, “but you needn’t hurry away. There’s no one coming below for some time and you might as well talk with me while we have the opportunity. I intend to get you out of the ship in a short time.”
She listened and grasped the edge of the bulkhead.
“How can you? Can you get me into a small boat? They would certainly get us before we could row away.”