Lawrence sat silent for a few moments, gazing towards the shore. Prudence made an effort to keep up some kind of conversation. Though Rodney terrified her, she was secretly admiring him. She was thinking that she had not known he could be exactly like this. Lawrence turned from his contemplation of the receding shore to objects nearer. He rose with the utmost quietness of movement. He stooped slightly, and, notwithstanding the quick and furious warding motion made by Meramble, that gentleman was lifted bodily up, and flung over the boat's side, where he fell splashing into the water. The boat darted away from him, but not so soon that the two in it could not hear the terrible oath he uttered. "Oh, Rodney!" cried Prudence, starting from her seat. "Sit down," said Rodney, calmly, but his face was not quite steady. Now that his anger had done something to satisfy itself, he must begin to feel the reaction in some way. "He will drown," said Prudence. "No matter." "But you will be hanged." "In that case you will be a widow." Here Lawrence began to laugh. Drops of moisture appeared on his forehead. Prudence rose again. This time she came and was going to sit down by her husband, but he made a gesture for her to go back. "He won't drown,--never fear," he said. "As if I cared whether he drowned or not!" she cried. "It's you I care for." At this Lawrence laughed again. He was watching Meramble, who was swimming after them, his black head shining on top of the water. Now he withdrew his eyes from Meramble, and fixed them on his wife. He felt as if a devil were in him that was not yet satisfied. And why should he still have that furious, unreasoning love for this woman? Had she not jilted him once, and when she could not get her English lord, had she not won him again? Did she love him? Had she ever loved him? Good God! it was dreadful to look at her now and doubt her. There was terror in her face, but there was something else, too, the thing which had lured him and held him, and which he was afraid would always hold him; and it seemed to be love for him,--some cruel passion which a woman like her was capable of feeling, even while she coquetted with other men. He did not understand; he was not going to endure it. Lawrence was sitting in the place just occupied by Meramble. He wished to be ready to attend to the launch; he had put it about directly, and they were now returning to the shore. Prudence had taken her seat near him. With some appearance of timidity she leaned forward and touched his sleeve. "I would never testify against you," she said, in an awed whisper, her terror plainly visible.