hook his head.

"Don't add to the horrors," he said, smiling. "I'd rather not suppose
anything of the kind. It's bad enough as it is."

"There would be danger, then?"

"Yes."

"In what way?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, we should drift out to sea, and the first heavy wave that caught
us broadside would probably swamp us. The great thing is, you see, to
keep our head to the waves. Are you cold, love?"

I shook my head. I had no thought of it

"Frightened?"

"Not a bit of it. Do I look it?"

"That you don't," he answered, smiling. "You are brave, dearest. I shall
never forgive myself for being so careless, though."

I think that it was then that the madness first came to me. I held my
hands up to my head, and strove to fight against that frantic impulse.
The air seemed full of voices whispering to me to end by one swift
stroke this hideous dilemma into which I had drifted of my own foolish
will. It was so simple; so easy a manner of escape. And she, too, would
be punished. In a manner, my oath would have been accomplished. What
vengeance could be sweeter to the heart of that desolate old man than
the death of her son--her only son? It could be done so easily, so
secretly. And as for me, should I not die in his arms with his dear face
pressed close to mine, his kisses upon my cold lips, and his voice the
last to fall upon my ears? What was life to me, a pledged murderess?
Would not such a death be a thousand times better? The wind rushing
across the waters seemed to bring mocking whispers to my ears. I seemed
to read it in the silent stars, and in the voices of the night. Death,
painless and sudden. Death, in my lover's arms. My heart yearned for it.

In the darkness I stretched down my hand, and felt for the oars. My
lover's back was turned to me, for he was on his knees in the bows,
gazing ahead with strained eyesight. One oar I raised and balanced on
the side of the boat. A quick push, and it was gone. The dull splash in
the water was lost in the rushing of the wind and the creaking of the
ropes. I watched it drift away from us with anxious eyes. It was gone,
irrevocably gone.

There was only the sail now. I had not meant to touch that; to leave so
much to chance, but the desire for death had grown. I was no longer
mistress of myself. A small pocket-knife was lying in the bottom of the
boat, and I stooped down cautiously and picked it up. Just as