“You see she had been talking about her husband when this cut-throat ruffian came in and frightened her into fits, and now she has got all mixed up in her impressions,” whispered the commodore, while the excited woman continued to rave in the same strain without a moment’s cessation. “This _must_ be stopped. I shall give her a dose of morphia,” whispered his sister; and she rose and left the room for the expressed purpose. And Emolyn raved on, bitterly reproaching the commodore. “Mad people always fly in the faces of their best friends,” said the old man, as he continued his efforts to calm the frantic woman. The widow returned, bringing a small glass of port wine, with which she had mixed a dose of morphia. “Here, my poor girl, drink this and compose yourself,” she said in her gentlest and most persuasive tones, as she held the glass to Emolyn’s lips. “If I do, will you send at once and bring him back?” demanded Emolyn, fixing her wild, excited, pleading eyes on the face of the lady. “_Indeed I will_,” she answered. “Because he can go with me to the island, where we will live like Adam and Eve in Eden—_without the serpent_.” “So you shall, my dear, _if you wish_,” said the lady. Emolyn took the glass, drank the contents and threw herself back on the pillow. In a few moments she was quiet, in a few more she was asleep. “Now,” said the lady, “you must send and seek that tramp and have him brought back to the house.” “In the name of Heaven, _why_?” demanded the commodore. “First, because I promised, and I will not break a promise, even when it is given to humor a delirious patient; and, secondly, because I do think _there is more in this than appears_,” replied the lady. “What should there be in it?” “I don’t know. But find the man and bring him here.” The commodore expostulated and swore. The lady persisted and gained her point. The order was given and the servants started on their quest. Emolyn slept on, hour after hour watched by the widow. The servants returned from their long and careful search with the news that the tramp could not be found. “Why are you so anxious to have that ruffian brought back?” demanded the provoked commodore of his sister, as they stood together beside the sleeper. “I have told you the reason,” said the lady—“that Emolyn shall be satisfied.” CHAPTER XXXII THE TRAMP’S STORY Of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery. SHAKESPEARE.