When he was alone with the young woman the Baron appeared to hesitate. Ralph saw that his face was haggard, his eyes wild, and that he was on the point of speech or action. But the words or the acts must have been of a kind from which one shrinks, for he was for some time restless and fidgeting. Then his opening was brutal. “Pray to God, Madam,” he said suddenly. She replied in a puzzled tone: “Pray to God? Why are you telling me to do that?” Then he said in a very low voice: “Do as you like.... Only I must warn you----” “Warn me of what?” she asked gazing at him in a sudden anxiety. “There are moments,” he murmured, “when one ought to pray to God as if one was about to die that very night.” She was stricken with a sudden panic. The facts of the situation suddenly flashed on her. Her arms seemed to stiffen and she clasped her hands in a kind of feverish convulsion. “Die?... Die?... But there is no question of that, is there?... Beaumagnan never spoke of death.... He spoke of a mad-house.” He did not answer. The unfortunate woman murmured: “Heavens! He has deceived me. The mad-house was a lie.... It’s something else.... You’re going to throw me into the sea.... At night.... It’s horrible!... But it isn’t possible.... Me die--me?... Help!... Help!” Godfrey d’Etigues caught up the traveling rug and with a furious brutality he covered the young woman’s head with it and pressed his hand over her mouth to smother her cries. As he was doing so, de Bennetot returned carrying the stretcher on his shoulder. The two of them stretched her out on it and tied her down securely and in such a way, that through an opening between the slats, there hung down the iron ring to which a heavy boulder was to be fastened. CHAPTER IV. THE SINKING BOAT The darkness was thickening. Godfrey d’Etigues lit a lamp. Oscar de Bennetot went to the château to get some dinner. He must have made a hasty meal, for he was back in about a quarter of an hour. The two cousins settled down to the death vigil. Even in that dim light Ralph could see that their faces were sinister. He could see the nervous twitchings which the thought of the crime so near at hand provoked. “You ought to have brought a bottle of rum,” growled Oscar de Bennetot. “There are occasions on which one had better not perceive too clearly what one is doing.” “This is not one of them,” said the Baron coldly. “On the contrary, we shall need to have all our wits about us.” “It’s a nice business,” growled de Bennetot. “Then you ought to have argued it out with Beaumagnan and refused him your help,” said the Baron impatiently. “It was impossible,” murmured de Bennetot. “Then obey,” said the Baron sternly. The time passed slowly. No sound came from the château or from the sleeping countryside. Once de Bennetot rose, went to their prisoner, and bending down, listened. Then he turned to the Baron and said: “She is not even groaning. She certainly is a woman of character.”