en us, he left me. The door shut, and I sat
staring at it, as if I could see beyond.

I had spoken only the truth. There was no sin against living or dead in
what I had urged Roger to do. Yet the bare thought of it was so grim
that I felt like an up-to-date Lady Macbeth.

I had forgotten to beg that he would come back and tell of his success
or--failure. But I was sure he would come, sooner or later, whatever
happened, and I sat quite still--waiting. I kept my eyes on the door, to
see the handle turn, or gazed at my little travelling clock to watch the
dragging moments. I longed for news. Yet I was glad when time went on
without a sign. The quick coming back of Roger would have meant that he
had failed--that all hope was ended.

Twenty minutes; thirty; forty; fifty, passed, seeming endless. But when
with the sixtieth minute came the faint tap I awaited, down sank my
heart. Roger could not have finished his double task in an hour!

I dashed to the door, and the light from my cabin showed the man's face,
ashy pale. Yet I did not read despair on it.

Without a word I dragged him into the room once more; and only when the
door was closed did I dare to whisper "_Well?_"

CHAPTER VIII

THE GREAT SURPRISE

"_There was no body in the coffin_," Roger said.

"Empty?" I gasped.

"Not empty. No. There was something there. Will you come to my cabin and
see what it was? Don't look frightened. There's nothing to alarm you.
And--Princess, the rest of the plan you gave me has been--_carried out_.
Thanks to your woman's wit, I believe that my future and Shelagh's is
clear. And, before Heaven, my conscience is clear, too."

"Oh, Roger, it's thanks to your own courage more than to me. Is--is all
_safe_?"

"The coffin--isn't empty now. It is fastened up, just as it was. The
broken rope is round it again. It's covered with the tarpaulin as
before. No one outside the secret would guess it had been disturbed.
There's no maker's mark to trace it by. I owe more than my life--I owe
my very _soul_--to you. For I haven't much fear of what may come at St.
Heliers to-morrow or after."

"Nor I. Oh, I am _thankful_, for Shelagh's sake even more than yours, if
possible. Her heart would have broken. Now she need never know."

"She must know--and choose. I shall tell her--everything I did. Only I
need not bring you into it."

"If you tell her about yourself, you must tell her about me," I said.
"I'd like to be with you when you