Raimond had left Beryl and gone to the yacht--that was the only thing really in her thoughts. But he would not be so balked a second time. It would be better if death came and took her where she sat, found Beryl in the lonely woods, for it would cut the coil around them both, the coil the girl understood not at all--the woman too well. She bowed her head on the cold stone door-steps, too hopeless to care how the matter ended. The moon rose and poured a flood of light on the lovely, desolate figure, almost lying on the steps with hidden face. Her misery, her shame that another had heard, had numbed the woman’s wits. Raimond was done with her, would care no more for her claim on him than for his last year’s neckties. If Beryl fell in love with him she might not care either. Andria could not think past that, except to be sure that she would never leave the island, even if she chose to go in the yacht with Raimond and the girl who was to stand lawfully in her own unlawful shoes. A sudden touch roused her. Salome, like a black statue, was sitting beside her. “I been down in de woods,” she whispered. “I seen him kiss her. She’s coming now. Oh, missus, dey’ll be murder!” “Seen who?” fierce, suddenly alive in every nerve, she sprang up. Had she been mistaken, and it was not Raimond she had seen rowing away! “For God’s sake, Salome, who?” “Mr. Heriot,” but she sprang up, too, at the dreadful laugh that came from Andria. “Don’t do like dat for de land’s sake!” she exclaimed. “Dey ain’t never no good come from dat kind o’ laughin’. And I tell you he must go out o’ dis to-night. Mr. Egerton he tell me Miss Ber’l gwine to marry dat nephew he brung. What’ll he say when he finds out?--for she’ll never marry him now, dat I tell you!” “Oh, Salome!” the white woman seized the black one’s hand, more relieved than if she had brought her the riches of the world. “What a fool I’ve been. I never thought of that. Hush! Here’s Miss Beryl now. But--she’s alone!” Yet as she looked at the girl’s face in the warm moonlight she knew Salome was right. The indifferent child of yesterday was gone. This was a woman, and surely, surely, she would fight as women do, tooth and claw, for the man she loved. “Where’s Mr. Heriot?” she asked softly. “Coming.” She hesitated. “Andria----” “I know,” a wave of pity came over her for the girl whose wooing would be so stormy, and then a cold terror. Salome knew Egerton--she knew Raimond--neither would hesitate in this lonely island at anything that would put out of the way the man and woman who threatened their schemes. She looked up and saw Heriot approaching as carelessly as if the terrors of the place did not exist, and the foolhardy thing they were all doing came over her. “Come in; it isn’t safe to sit here,” she cried, and as Beryl broke from her at the coming steps she turned to Salome. “Take her in and put her to bed. Make her eat something,” she whispered. “I’ll talk to him.” Salome nodded.