"It is alive!"
Suddenly the top of the canvas rounded as though it concealed a head, and towered over the cockpit to the height a human form would have reached.
And now Pierre's whole body was shaking faster than the vibrating engine, so that he could scarcely outline the cross on his frightened heart.
"Saints deliver us! It is a spirit—the man we have killed!"
The tarpaulin parted. It was no evil face. The wavering tresses were covered with moonlit spray.
"Linda!"
"Even I, Monsieur!"
"But, Mademoiselle, you cannot go"
"Why not—the old man he beat me. Would you have me go back to die? If I go back I will surely die, for if he do not, I will kill myself."
"He will not hurt you any more, my child."
"What—you have killed him?"
"Yes—there was no other way"
"Gracias?"
The cry was a little savage for one whose heart was so tender to those she loved, but then she rapidly uttered a prayer, and a moment later she rose from her knees.
"There is no one who cares for me—back there, dear one."
"But you do not know where we are going, Linda."
"Yes, to the island, which, you tell me, is so like Heaven and yet as dangerous as the evil place—but I do not care"
