West was so immersed in his own thoughts, awakened by these new developments, he apparently did not hear what the girl said. She reached out and pressed his arm.

“Do you not see, Captain West? Daylight is coming; it is much lighter over there.”

He lifted his head, and looked where she pointed. A dull, grey light topped the waters, and the sky above held a faint tinge of crimson. The wan glow accented the loneliness, and for the moment left him depressed. Was there ever a more sombre scene than was presented by that waste of tumbling waves, stretching to the horizon, arched over by a clouded sky? It grew clearer, more distinct, yet remained the same dead expanse of restless water, on which they tossed helplessly and alone. Nothing broke the grimness of it, not even a bird in the air, or a leaping fish; complete desolation met the eye in every direction, a threatening, menacing dreariness amid which each approaching swell seemed about to sweep them to destruction. The wind increased slightly with the dawn, buffeting the frail raft to which they clung desperately, and showering them with spray, while, as the light became stronger, they searched vainly for any sign of ship, or shadow of land. Nothing appeared within range of vision to break the drear monotony of grey sea and sky. Neither felt any desire to speak; they could only stare out silently across the desolation of waters, feeling their helplessness and peril. This then was the morning they had struggled forward to this green, grey monster, whose dripping jaws showered wet foam over them; this terrible nothingness which promised death.

Her head sank forward into her hands, as though she would thus shut out the whole weird picture, and West, aroused by the slight movement, glanced quickly aside. The sight of her distress gave him instant mastery over his own depression. His hand sought her own, where it gripped for support, and closed over it warmly.

“It cannot be as bad as it seems,” he insisted, trying to say the words cheerfully. “I know these waters, and they are never long deserted. Luck will change surely; perhaps within the hour we shall be picked up, and can laugh at all this experience.”

She lifted her head, and their eyes met frankly.

“I am not afraid,” she protested. “Not physically, at least. Truly I have not felt fear since you joined me, Captain West. Before that I was alone, and was frightened because I could not in the least understand why I was being held a prisoner, or what my fate was to be. Now all I must meet is the danger of the sea, with you to share the peril with me.”

“But you are very tired?”

“Perhaps so, yet I have not thought about that. There are other things; you do not believe in me.”

“Why say that?” he asked, in astonishment. “There is no question of the kind between us now.”

“Truly, is there not? There has been, however; I know from the way you spoke. What was it you believed of me that that I was part of this conspiracy?”

“I do not know what I believed, if I actually believed anything, Miss Natalie,” he explained rather lamely. “I cannot make the situation altogether clear even to myself. You see I kept meeting and talking with you or I thought I did and yet never found you to be the same. I was all at sea, unable to get anything straight. One moment I was convinced of your innocence; the next something occurred to make you appear guilty, a co-conspirator with Jim Hobart. Under the circumstances, you cannot condemn me justly.”

“Condemn! I do not. How could I? You must have kept faith in me nevertheless, or you would never be here now. That is what seems marvellous to me that you actually cared enough to believe.”

“I realize now that I have,” he said gravely. “Through it all I have kept a very large measure of faith in you.”

“Why should that faith have survived?” she questioned persistently, as though doubt would not wholly leave her mind, “we had no time to really know each other; only a few hours at the most, and even then you must have deemed me a strange girl to ask of you what I did. Surely there was never a madder story told than the one I told you, and I couldn’t have proven an item of it.”

“Yet it has shown itself true,” he interrupted.

“You actually believe then that there is another woman a counterfeit of myself?”

“It is the only theory feasible; you have convinced me of that.”

“Yet this does not answer my question altogether. You are convinced now, perhaps, because you accept my word, but how have you kept faith in me when you believed just as strongly that it was actually I who met and talked with you? I who was playing in the game with the man Hobart?”

“Will you believe what I say?”

“Implicitly.”

“Perhaps it sounds like a fairy tale,” he spoke frankly, his eyes seeking her own, all their surroundings forgotten in the eagerness of the moment, “but I will tell you the exact truth. Before this misunderstanding occurred you had confided in me, trusted me, although I was a stranger and I believed absolutely in your story. I had that basis to rest on. In addition to this, those few hours I passed at ‘Fairlawn’ served to confirm my faith. I got hold of various odds and ends of evidence which convinced me that something was wrong that you were actually being conspired against. I even gained a suspicion that Percival Coolidge was the actual leader of the conspiracy.”

“Percival Coolidge! but why? What could he gain by such a crime?”

“I have not found the answer yet, but my conviction remains strong stronger, indeed, than ever since our talk last night. You could never have been made prisoner in that cottage without his connivance; he must have lured you there for that particular purpose, so that this other girl could take your place without danger of discovery. It was a neat trick, so well done as to even deceive me. The reason for Percival’s participation is only a guess, but my theory is the fellow had so juggled your fortune, and the time for final accounting was so near, he had to take a desperate chance in order to save himself.”

“You mean the opportunity came, and he could not resist?”

“Perhaps so, and perhaps it was his own deliberate plan. That remains to be discovered. My own theory is that when Hobart learned what Percival Coolidge proposed doing, his own criminal tendencies told him that here was some easy money. The girl was undoubtedly wholly under his control; some denizen of the underworld probably. She had already played her part sufficiently well to convince Hobart of success. Why then, shouldn’t he have this money instead of Percival? There was no reason except that Percival was in the way. That was why he was killed.”

“By Hobart?”

“He may not have fired the shot, but I have no doubt he inspired it; and the job was so expertly done the coroner called it suicide. The way was open; you were a prisoner, and the false Natalie Coolidge safely installed as mistress of ‘Fairlawn.’ No one apparently suspected anything wrong.”

“And,” she questioned breathlessly, “the man meant to murder me also?”

“Not at that time in my judgment,” West answered thoughtfully. “Such an additional crime was not a part of the original plan. There was no apparent necessity. Your estate was about to be settled finally, and given over to your control in accordance with the terms of your father’s will. Hobart must have known all this from Percival Coolidge, and exactly what steps must be taken to secure it. Once the money, and other property, were delivered to the fake Natalie, the cashing in and get away would be easy; even the identity of the thieves would be concealed. Killing you was not at all necessary to the success of their scheme.”

“But they did try to kill me.”

“Yes, later, by the sinking of the yacht. Probably I am largely responsible for that.”

“You?”

“Yes; the persistency with which I stuck to the trail. They became frightened. My appearance in Wray Street must have been quite a shock, and when I succeeded in escaping from their trap there, Hobart very evidently lost his head completely. He did not dare risk my ever finding you. The knowledge that I was free, perhaps in communication with the police, led to your night trip to the Seminole, and the secret sinking of the yacht. He had gone too far by then to hesitate at another murder.”

She waited breathlessly for him to go on, her eyes on the tumbling waste of water. He remained quiet, motionless, and she turned toward him expectantly.

“I I think I understand now,” she admitted, “how all this occurred; but why why were you so persistent? There there must have been a reason more impelling than a vague suspicion?”

“There was the most compelling impulse in the world.”

“You mean faith in me?”

“Even more than that; love for you. Natalie, listen; what I have to say may sound strange, cruel even under such conditions as now surround us, but you force me to say them. I love you, have loved you all the time, without fully realizing exactly what it meant. There have been times when I have doubted you, when I could not wholly escape the evidence that you were also concerned personally in this fraud. I have endeavoured to withdraw from the case, to forget, and blot everything from memory. But something stronger than will prevented; I could not desert you; could not believe you were wilfully wrong. You understand what I mean.”

“Yes,” the words barely reaching him. “It was the other girl; she undermined your faith.”

“That is the truth; yet how could it be, do you suppose? My very love should have enabled me to detect the difference. I can see now, thinking back, where the fraud was even apparent in mood, temper, action and yet at the time these made no such impression. Even Sexton never questioned her identity; in face, figure, dress the resemblance was absolutely perfect. Good heavens, but she is an actress!”

She touched his arm with her hand, and under the slight pressure he looked aside at her.

“You know now,” she said softly, “and I know. All this is passed and gone between us. We are here alone, the sport of the waves, and I have no reason to be other than frank. I believe in you, Matthew West; in your honesty and manhood. You say you love me?”

“With all my heart and soul; it seems to me now I have always loved you you came to me, the lady of my dreams.”

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, yet she smiled back into his face, her voice trembling as she answered.

“And I,” she said slowly, “have had no thought but of you since our morning in the garden together. How far away that seems.”

“You mean you love me?”

“Yes; I love you; there is no word stronger, but I would speak it is that not enough?”

He held her in his arms, in spite of the trembling raft, tossed by the swell of the sea, and crushed her against him in the ardent strain of passion. An instant she held her head back, her eyes gazing straight into his; then, with sigh of content, yielded, and their lips met, and clung.

The very silence aroused them, startled both into a swift realization of that dreary waste in which they floated helplessly alone, a drifting chip on the face of the waters. Her eyes swept the crest of the waves, and she withdrew herself partially from his arms.

“Why, we must be crazed to dream of happiness here,” she exclaimed. “Was there ever before so strange a confession of love? I am trying to be brave but but that is too much; that waste of green water, with the grey sky overhead. There is no ending to it just death mocking us in every wave. Oh, Matthew, can this be all? Only this little moment, and then the end?”

He held her hands tightly, his heart throbbing, but his courage and hope high.

“No, dear,” he whispered eagerly. “Don’t think that for a moment. We have passed through too much to dream of such an ending now. There will be ships there must be. Look! what is that, yonder against the sky-line? It is, sweet-heart; it is the smoke of a steamer.”