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Ebook has 924 lines and 53014 words, and 19 pages

"Don't flatter yourself," I answered grimly. "There is a man on deck that you will have to deal with--a man who has loved this girl for years, who knows your position, and who will know of the crime you have committed. You are a murderer, and you will have to deal with John Dunbar."

"What have I got to do with him? He's my skipper, to do as I tell him."

"I'll see about that."

I left him and sought Dunbar, who stood on the weather quarter, alone. The same man was at the wheel, and I raised my hand warningly as I caught his eye. He nodded, as though he comprehended.

"Dunbar," I said, as I reached his side, "has the captain of a ship, or yacht, the power to put the owner of the craft in irons?"

"Yes," he answered, slowly, the words seeming to struggle through his set teeth, "if the owner violates the law in any way, or threatens by his acts the destruction of property or life."

"Then put George Lance in irons for the murder of his own child."

He started, and looked intently into my face.

"He threw the child overboard within half an hour of its birth."

"Then, Doctor," he answered, slowly, "it seems that he does not mean to marry her."

"Most certainly not. I gave up that hope long ago."

"He will cast her adrift to live this thing down as she can, I suppose."

"Yes, as he says, to live her life as she likes while he lives his."

"I will not iron him, doctor; for that would mean arrest, a trial, and publicity. Where is he now?"

"In his room, drunk and defiant."

Dunbar threw off his long oilskin coat, doffed his sou'wester, and descended the cabin stairs; I followed, and my wife, standing in the open doorway of Ella's room, beckoned to me.

"I have just told her," she whispered, "but she seems too dazed to realize it."

Dunbar, who had halted in the middle of the cabin, approached.

"May I speak to her?" he asked, quietly. We assented, and he stepped into the stateroom. The poor girl, white and wasted, looked at him as I have seen a kitten look at a huge dog, but she made no protest.

"Miss Madison," said Dunbar, gently, "do you remember the boy in the jail about ten years ago, to whom you were kind when others--excepting the doctor here--were not? Do you remember John Dunbar, who served a four-year sentence?"

She nodded, slowly and weakly, with the light of recognition stealing over her face.

"I am that boy, Miss Madison. Your kindness made a man of me. I studied and worked and saved, looking forward to the time when I might reach your level and ask you to be my wife. In all these years of absence I have not spent ten seconds of my waking life without thinking of you, your face and figure, trying to recall your voice, your gestures, and expression. I want that you should know this--that you should know how I loved you and what that love has done for me, so that you will not think that your life is a complete failure, even though your present trouble ends things for me. I am going to die. Good-by."

He leaned over, put his arms around her neck and gently lifted her; then he pressed his lips to hers, long and passionately, and, laying her down, brushed past us at the door.

"Where is he?" he asked, grimly.

"In his room," I answered. "But, Dunbar, what are you thinking of? You're not thinking of dying, are you?"

"That, and other things."

He opened the door of Lance's room.

"Mr. Lance," he said. "Come out of that."

"What do you mean by this intrusion, Captain Dunbar? This is the after cabin, and my private room, where you have no business to be. You are my sailing-master. Go on deck where you belong." Lance's voice was thick, and he spoke brokenly. But this ended it; Dunbar's face, voice, and manner sobered him.

"Come out of that room!" thundered Dunbar, "or I'll drag you out by the hair. COME!" The last word was like a trumpet-blast, and Lance followed him out into the cabin.

"Mr. Lance," said Dunbar, his face as white as a sailor's may become, and his voice low, tense, and thoroughly under command, "you saved my life, and by so doing debarred me from any action antagonistic to you while I retained that life. But you have forfeited yours. You could go back to New York, stand trial for the murder of a helpless infant, and die in the chair--which death would not atone for the suffering you would inflict upon this girl that I loved, and upon me. For she would be flouted by the world. And so, to save her from this flouting, and because you have got to die, I appoint myself your executioner, out here at sea where there are no reporters to give the facts to the world. But in killing you I give you back the life that you gave me; for that life is nothing to me compared with the happiness of Ella Madison. Come! Come on deck, and go overboard with me."

"What--what?" stuttered Lance, his eyes wide open in terror. "What are you thinking of? If you love this girl, marry her. I will stand the expense and start you in life. You can command this yacht at double your present pay, or I will secure you an interest in and the command of a ship. This seems a pleasant solution of this very unpleasant business. Come, now, what do you say?"

"Damn you!" roared Dunbar, and his fist shot out. Lance was fairly hurled by the impact on his jaw against the bulkhead, where he fell to the floor. Before he was well on his feet Dunbar had him by the throat.

"On deck with you," he said, as Lance struggled in his grasp. "Come, and we'll follow the baby."

"Dunbar," I shouted. "Stop this. Are you going to be a murderer, too? Leave this to the law. The law is adequate."

"The law will publish her shame to the world," he replied, as calmly as a man may speak while struggling with one under mortal fear of death. For Lance had roused himself to the necessity of action. He was, a tall, strong man, nearly the match for Dunbar. They fought and struggled round that cabin floor, while my wife screamed and finally fainted. But I could give her no attention; I was trying, though a man getting on to old age, to separate these two men, one bent upon death, the other fighting for life. Through the open stateroom door Ella must have heard it all.

Even as I tried, with my small strength, and the words at my command, to stop this suicide and murder, there came to me the memory of the similarity of happenings to these two men--that they were born in the same spot and at the same moment, that the dates of their departures coincided, and that they had both been strongly influenced by the same woman, one to be uplifted, the other to be dragged down. Was it to happen that both should die at the same time? I felt, rather than believed, that the laws of astrology were as nothing when opposed to the human will, and I resolved to stop that struggle. I rushed on deck, and called the mate. He came, the inquiry in his face apprising me that he had heard the sounds from below, and was wondering.

"Call all hands," I commanded. "The captain is half insane and is bent upon jumping overboard with the owner. Separate them."

"Not much," he said. "I've nothing to do with their troubles, but I've got my living to make. Both have power to fire me, and no matter who wins, I'd get it in the neck."

"Men, come aft here," I shouted to the sailors. The men forward came toward me, but were stopped by the mate.

"Go back," he said. "This is none of your funeral nor mine. Let the owner settle his own affairs."

They obeyed him, and drew away. Of course, they did not know. I ran aft to the companion. Dunbar and Lance were just at the upper step. Dunbar was speaking, quietly, softly, yet intensely upon the matter in hand--the absolute necessity of their both dying. He had one hand on Lance's throat, the other upon his hair, and he was dragging him bodily out of the companion.

"Dunbar!" I shouted, "stop this. You are insane. Put him in irons and take time to think. Then you will not want to do this. Think, Dunbar."

He did not answer. His grim, determined face did not change nor soften. He was the master of the other and was using his power. Slowly, while Lance struggled and shrieked for help, he dragged him over toward the rail.

"Drop your wheel," I said to the helmsman, "and help me to stop this murder and suicide."

"Can't leave the wheel, sir," the man answered. "Get some of the other fellows."

The other fellows were under control of the mate, careful of his job. I was in despair, and in my despair I threw myself upon Dunbar, demanding that he desist. He struck me down with a blow, and while I was in a half-comatose condition, I saw a white-clad figure emerge from the companion, and approach the contestants. It was Ella, in her night robe, pale and weak, but determined.

Dunbar released his hold on Lance, and while the terror-stricken scoundrel rushed to the companion, he turned toward the girl, his face twisting with the conflicting emotions of his brain. I staggered to my feet, reached her side and supported her.

"John Dunbar," she continued, "you are too big, and strong, and brave, to do this thing--to kill yourself so that you may kill another. Live, so that I may live, too. God will care for him."

Dunbar shook like a man with the ague, and it was some time before he could control his voice in answer.

"I do not. He killed my child--his child."

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