him. He annoys me. So I step on him, just as I do on this
spider."

"Don't, Boris. I'll give you all my share of the treasure. I'll forgive
you everything you've done. I'll see that you're not prosecuted. Be
merciful for once."

"Don't get hysterical, Evie. Sedgwick understands he has got to pay. He
took a fighting chance and he has lost. It's all in the game." The
villain must have looked at his watch, and then yawned. "Past 10:30.
Excuse me for a half hour while I settle your friend's hash. Afterward
I'll be back with the priest."

"No--no! I won't have it. Boris, if you ever loved me--Oh, God in
heaven, help me now!"

I think that in her wild despair she had flung herself on her knees in
front of him. Her voice shook, broke almost into a scream.

"Are these--dramatics--for yourself or for him?" Bothwell asked with a
sneer.

"Don't kill him! Don't! I'll do whatever you say."

"Will you marry me--at once--to-night?"

I spoke up from the porthole where I was listening.

"No, she won't, you scoundrel! As for me, I'd advise you to catch your
hare before you cook it."

"I'm on my way to catch it now, dear Sedgwick, just as soon as I break
away from the lady," he called back insolently.

"I'll--marry you." The words came from a parched throat.

"To-night," he demanded.

"Not to-night," she begged. "When we get back to Panama."

"No. I'm not going to give you a chance to welch. Now--here--on this
schooner."

"Not to-night. I'm so--weary and--unstrung. I'll do whatever you say,
but--give me time to--to--Oh, I'm afraid!"

"Bothwell, you cur, come in here and you and I will see this out to a
finish!" I cried in helpless fury.

"Presently, my dear Sedgwick. I'll be there soon enough, and that's a
promise. But ladies first. You wouldn't have me delay my wedding, would
you?"

I flung myself against the door repeatedly and tried to beat it down,
but my rage was useless. The lock and the hinges held. Back I went to my
porthole.

"Evelyn, are you there?"

"Yes," came the answer in a choked voice.

"Don't do it. What are you thinking of? I'd rather die a hundred deaths
than have you marry him."

"I must, Jack. If you should be killed--and I could have prevented
it---- Oh, don't you see I must?"

The words were wrung from her in a cry, as if she had been a tortured
child.

"Of course she must. But why make a tragedy of it? By Heaven, you wound
my vanity between the pair of you. Am I not straight--as g