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“How can I?” asked Haltren. “Good-bye. And I’ll say good-bye to you, major–“

“Good-bye,” muttered the major, attempting to clasp his fat little hands behind his back.

Haltren, who had no idea of offering his hand, stood still a moment, glancing at the cabin skylights; then, with a final nod to Darrow, he deliberately slid over-board and waded away, knee-deep, towards the palm-fringed shore.

Darrow could not contain himself. “Major Brent,” he said, “I suppose you don’t realize that Haltren saved the lives of every soul aboard this launch.”

The major’s inflamed eyes popped out.

“Eh? What’s that?”

“More than that,” said Darrow, “he came back from safety to risk his life. As it was he lost his boat and his gun–“

“Damnation!” broke out the major; “you don’t expect me to ask him to stay and meet the wife he deserted four years ago!”

And he waddled off to the engine-room, where the engineer and his assistant were tinkering at the wrecked engine.

Darrow went down into the sloppy cabin, where, on a couch, Mrs. Castle lay, ill from the shock of the recent catastrophe; and beside her stood an attractive girl stirring sweet spirits of ammonia in a tumbler.

Her eyes were fixed on the open port-hole. Through that port-hole the lagoon was visible; so was Haltren, wading shoreward, a solitary figure against the fringed rampart of the wilderness.

“Is Mrs. Castle better?” asked Darrow.

“I think so; I think she is asleep,” said the girl, calmly.

There was a pause; then Darrow took the tumbler and stirred the contents.

“Do you know who it was that got us out of that pickle?”

“Yes,” she said; “my husband.”

“I suppose you could hear what we said on deck.”

There was no answer.

“Could you, Kathleen?”

“Yes.”

Darrow stared into the tumbler, tasted the medicine, and frowned.

“Isn’t there–isn’t there a chance–a ghost of a chance?” he asked.

“I think not,” she answered–“I am sure not. I shall never see him again.”

“I meant for myself,” said Darrow, deliberately, looking her full in the face.

She crimsoned to her temples, then her eyes flashed violet fire.

“Not the slightest,” she said.

“Thanks,” said Darrow, flippantly; “I only wanted to know.”

“You know now, don’t you?” she asked, a trifle excited, yet realizing instinctively that somehow she had been tricked. And yet, until that moment, she had believed Darrow to be her slave. He had been and was still; but she was not longer certain, and her uncertainty confused her.

“Do you mean to say that you have any human feeling left for that vagabond?” demanded Darrow. So earnest was he that his tanned face grew tense and white.

“I’ll tell you,” she said, breathlessly, “that from this moment I have no human feeling left for you! And I never had! I know it now; never! never! I had rather be the divorced wife of Jack Haltren than the wife of any man alive!”

The angry beauty of her young face was his reward; he turned away and climbed the companion. And in the shattered wheel-house he faced his own trouble, muttering: “I’ve done my best; I’ve tried to show the pluck he showed. He’s got his chance now!” And he leaned heavily on the wheel, covering his eyes with his hands; for he was fiercely in love, and he had destroyed for a friend’s sake all that he had ever hoped for.

But there was more to be done; he aroused himself presently and wandered around to the engine-room, where the major was prowling about, fussing and fuming and bullying his engineer.

“Major,” said Darrow, guilelessly, “do you suppose Haltren’s appearance has upset his wife?”

“Eh?” said the major. “No, I don’t! I refuse to believe that a woman of Mrs. Haltren’s sense and personal dignity could be upset by such a man! By gad! sir, if I thought it–for one instant, sir–for one second–I’d reason with her. I’d presume so far as to express my personal opinion of this fellow Haltren!”

“Perhaps I’d better speak to her,” began Darrow.

“No, sir! Why the devil should you assume that liberty?” demanded Major Brent. “Allow me, sir; allow me! Mrs. Haltren is my guest!”