But she tore her hand away, and ran to the gaunt stranger, who had brought such dire news. "I am going ashore with you," she said. He looked at her wild face, and shrank from her touch; he hurried to the stern to gain the boat. "Don't come nigh," whispered he. "I've had it." But she seized his arm and clung to him; she would not let him go. Murmurs rose from her fellow-passengers; Mr. Davenport's eyes threatened to start from their sockets; but the captain interfered. "No soul can leave the steamer," said he, resolutely. "I must go!" returned Margaret, in a frantic voice. "Miss Walsingham, you can't go," said the captain, sternly. "You would only fall a victim; and mind, I couldn't take you aboard again to carry the infection here." "I won't come back!" she cried; "but I must go." "Miss Margaret, I beg of you not to throw your precious life away," entreated Mr. Davenport next. "You can't find the colonel just now; most likely he's gone, poor fellow." "God forbid!" ejaculated she, raising her passionate eyes to heaven. "Surely I am not so wretched as that. Ah, sir, don't listen to them," she implored the man. "I will give you any money to put me ashore. There is a gentleman in Key West who may be dying for help, and he is a stranger there." "Did you ever hear of a fellow called Brand being here?" demanded the lawyer, suspiciously. "Oh, yes," smiled the man. "I know him well." "Is he here?" whispered Margaret, looking piteously up at him. "Yes, he is, at least he was three days ago, for he was nursing me, and left me last Tuesday. I am just getting about again, and haven't been in the town yet." "There, do you hear that?" cried Margaret, turning to the lawyer with a wild smile. "Kind as ever, noble as ever. Surely you believe now that we have found him?" "Yes," groaned Mr. Davenport; "but three days make a difference. He may be dead now." "I will find him, and see," said Margaret. "The woman's mad," blustered the captain, and left her to her fate. "Nobody escapes, Miss," said the stranger, warningly. She never listened. She wrapped her cloak about her, and brought her travelling-bag from her saloon. "Good-by, Madame Hesslein." She held out her steady hand, the calm light of heroism in her eyes; and madame, trembling and beseeching, saw that there was no remedy, and wept a last "Farewell, Miss Walsingham." She held out her hand to the little chevalier, who cast an agitated glance from mademoiselle to madame, and swore that it tore his heart-strings to part from either, but that vile fortune had decreed that he was not to see "the hand clasp" and the "happy hour," and kissed her hands in adieu. And then she offered her cold hand to Davenport, who kept it close, and walked with her to where the little boat lay.