fingers and staring out across the water. The storm had passed, but by the broad bands of light which flashed incessantly along the horizon, he could see the waves still tossing wildly in the bay. He lighted the cigarette with one long inhalation, and stood there smoking it, his back to the room and its dreadful occupant. Delroy sat limply down upon a chair and buried his head in his hands.
Presently there came the sound of footsteps on the walk, the door opened, and young Graham and Thomas came in.
“Doctor Wise promised t’ come at once, sir,” said the latter to Delroy, his voice dropped instinctively to a hoarse whisper. “He said he’d bring the coroner with him.”
Delroy nodded without looking up.
“Anything else I can do, sir?” asked Thomas, with one horrified glance at the still form on the cot.
“Yes; go back to the house and bring down some whiskey and half a dozen glasses.”
“Very well, sir,” and Thomas hurried away. He was back in a surprisingly few minutes.
“Give Mr. Tremaine a glass,” said Delroy. “Tremaine,” he called, “take a bumper, or you’ll be catching cold,” and he himself brimmed a glass and drained it at a draught. Tremaine took his more slowly.
“You, too, William,” said Delroy. “Here, you need it.”
The boy, who had been standing beside the cot, his hands clasping and unclasping convulsively, took the glass mechanically and swallowed its contents.
Thomas carried the tray to the farthest corner and
