Her face became convulsed; the query seemed a blow that gave her agony. With arms extended and fingers clutching again, she tottered, but did not fall; and he mercilessly repeated the question. She did not answer, and he, blindly desirous of prompting her, reached for the knife on the sideboard. "Had it anything to do with this?" he asked. "The scimitar," she exclaimed, hoarsely. "I killed her with it." Then she pressed her hands to her brow, held them tightly, and her eyes closed, while her frame stiffened visibly under the pressure. When she removed her hands and looked at him, she seemed another person; for in her eyes was the strange, hard expression they had worn when she had dozed off in her chair. They lighted on the carving-knife, and before he could move she pounced upon him and wrenched it from his hand. "Ha," she exclaimed, in the same harsh, raspy voice as before; "and would the señorita harm herself--or me? 'Tis a pretty plaything"--she ran her finger along the edge--"but too sharp for the Lady Isobel. Moorish make, I trow--we took it from the Spanish plate-ship off Tortuga--but better fit to slay than to prod. And had ye thought, my obstinate charmer, that when my patience is given out, it may be this that shall slit your smooth white throat?" With a meaning and somewhat quizzical smile at him, she laid the knife on the sideboard. Beverton kept his nerve, remembering her recent amenability to his suggestions. "Who are you?" he asked, tentatively, seeking an opening for further inquiry. "Ha-ha," she laughed. "An idle question to ask of Hal Morgan. Are ye so little informed of a man known to your countrymen from Madrid to Panama?" "And where are you?" "Where am I? Where indeed, but in the stateroom of my Lady Isobel, who, if I mistake not, is still intractable. We will try the water-cure, for once more." She lifted her face to the ceiling and called: "On deck there. A bucket o' water. Send it below by the steward." As though the order were obeyed, she stepped to the kitchen-door, just beyond which was the sink; and from this she lifted at arm's length--a feat of strength impossible to her when awake--the pail of water which always stood there. Turning toward him she swung it backward, one hand supporting it, the other gripping the bottom edge, and would have deluged him had he not spoken. "Wait," he said, sternly. "The water-cure will not avail." Her eyes wavered before his steady gaze, and she slowly lowered the pail to the floor. For a moment it seemed that she would waken, or at least lapse into softer mood; for her features grew composed, and her eyes lost their glitter; but they rested on the knife, and immediately hardened. "Then, here's to the end o' it," she said, impatiently, and springing forward she seized it, then with another bound sidewise, she reached Beverton and plunged the knife in his shoulder.