Trethowen placed his hand upon his heart, but there was no movement. The spark of life had fled.
Scrambling along to where the madman lay silent and motionless, he touched him on the shoulder. A second later, however, he started back, as he became conscious that to the thwarts was bound a corpse.
Hugh Trethowen was left alone with two bodies to suffer death by slow torture, the horrors of which he had already witnessed.
Shading his aching eyes with his hand, he struggled back and gazed around.
No sign of assistance—only a wide stretch of horizon unrelieved by a single hope-inspiring speck.
The revelations made by the dead man had killed all desire for life within him. With a heart bursting with grief at finding the woman he loved so well guilty of such vile dishonour, he cast himself into the bottom of the boat and lay awaiting his end, praying that his agony might not be protracted.