Fessenden's ghastly face, his groping fingers, his throat from which stood up the handle of the recking knife! The possibility of these things strained her mind to the breaking point. A horror of what the loss of him would mean to her drew a piercing cry: "Bob White! Oh, Bob White!" As if summoned by the sound, the two men rose into view--a yard apart. Betty fired on the instant. The shot went wild, but the negro, for the first time aware that firearms were at hand, dived deep. They saw him but once again, his head a black spot in the mist as he swam frenziedly for his drifting punt. Her shaking hands helped Fessenden over the rail. "You--that dreadful knife!--you aren't hurt?" "I knocked that out of his mouth the first thing. A couple of teeth along with it! But the fellow can swim like an alligator--he would have drowned me at his leisure, if you hadn't fired. Thank you, child." He patted her shoulder. "The row must have been rather rough on you." "It doesn't matter--so long as you're safe." "It's all right. Well, that 'swamper' won't bother us any more to-night, I'll swear--so I'll get out of these wet togs. Lucky they're the flannels I borrowed from Danton." She reached both hands to his dripping shoulders. "Tom! Tom! I want to talk to you." She was laughing, yet half in tears. "Oh, it's ridiculous--it's pitiful to think we are husband and wife, and--and you don't even know my real name." He stared down at her. A slow tremor shook him. "Then you admit--that I don't?" "I know you don't, you--you silly boy! Go and change your clothes. Then come back and talk to me. Come soon!" In a wonderfully short time he rejoined her. Only his damp hair showed his late struggle with the robber, but his very quietness betrayed his emotion. She was awaiting him on the cushioned locker, a lighted reading-lamp beside her. "Sit down here," she said. "Close! You needn't be afraid of me. I--oh, I've a hundred things to say to you!" "Good. It was thoughtful of you to bring out that lamp. I can see your face better while you talk." "And I yours--you dear boy." "Betty! Be careful what you say. I've got myself pretty well in hand, but I can't stand much of that sort of thing." She laughed deliriously. "I brought the lamp to let you read something." She produced an official-looking document. "Look at this. Do you know what it is?" He peered at it. "No-o. Yes, of course. It's our marriage certificate, isn't it?" "It is. Mr. Thomas Fessenden, do you realize that you signed that document some twelve hours ago and didn't even read the name just above your own?" "Above mine? That must be _your_ name, Betty!" "Of course, silly boy. But you haven't yet seen it. You were so excited that you may have married an Abiatha Prudence or a Mary Ann, for all you know." He gave her a penetrating glance, then snatched up the lamp and held it so that its rays fell full upon the certificate.