throaty laugh, even and full breathing, as if she had not swam a fraction of the half-mile she had covered.

“Foolish Rupert!” she cried, never relaxing her stroke. “Why waste the fruits of thy pains? Hast looked inside then? Nay, take me on board, and let us look together. Thou wilt not see Dolores drown, I swear. Then look once more into my eyes, my Rupert!”

She laughed again mockingly, alluringly, and Pearse turned away with a shudder, not daring to cast a glance in the direction of Venner.

“Throw the stuff over, I say!” cried Venner hoarsely, and gave the chest a push that sent it into the rippling sea with a thunderous splash. And again that mocking laugh rang out astern; it was nearer, and Dolores’s