Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. Only first you must find the lantern and light it again and leave it here, near the door, for me to find. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer.
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