me out of business you began nursing me back to life
again. And--"

"But that doesn't change it," insisted St. Pierre's wife. "If there had
been no mistake, there would have been a murder. Do you understand,
m'sieu? If it had been some one else behind that rock, I am quite
certain he would have died. The Law, at least, would have called it
murder. If Roger Audemard is a criminal, then I also am a criminal. And
an honorable man would not make a distinction because one of them is a
woman!"

"But--Black Roger was a fiend. He deserves no mercy. He--"

"Perhaps, m'sieu!"

She was on her feet, her eyes flaming down upon him. In that moment her
beauty was like the beauty of Carmin Fanchet. The poise of her slender
body, her glowing cheeks, her lustrous hair, her gold-flecked eyes with
the light of diamonds in them, held him speechless.

"I was sorry and went back for you," she said. "I wanted you to live,
after I saw you like that on the sand. Bateese says I was indiscreet,
that I should have left you there to die. Perhaps he is right. And
yet--even Roger Audemard might have had that pity for you."

She turned quickly, and he heard her moving away from him. Then, from
the door, she said,

"Bateese will make you comfortable, m'sieu."

The door opened and closed. She was gone. And he was alone in the cabin
again.

The swiftness of the change in her amazed him. It was as if he had
suddenly touched fire to an explosive. There had been the flare, but no
violence. She had not raised her voice, yet he heard in it the tremble
of an emotion that was consuming her. He had seen the flame of it in
her face and eyes. Something he had said, or had done, had tremendously
upset her, changing in an instant her attitude toward him. The thought
that came to him made his face burn under its scrub of beard. Did she
think he was a scoundrel? The dropping of his hand, the shock that must
have betrayed itself in his face when she said she was St. Pierre's
wife--had those things warned her against him? The heat went slowly out
of his face. It was impossible. She could not think that of him. It
must have been a sudden giving way under terrific strain. She had
compared herself to Roger Audemard, and she was beginning to realize
her peril--that Bateese was right--that she should have left him to die
in the sand!

The thought pressed itself heavily upon Carrigan. It brought him
suddenly back to a realization of how small a part he had played