She was now quite sure Fahey was still alive. The horrible suspicion had taken hold of her mind that Fahey had, after keeping in hiding for years, poisoned her husband for her sake! In the light of her belief that Fahey still lived, the theory that her husband had poisoned himself while of unsound mind was absurd to her. Before setting out this day for the Black Rock she opened a drawer of her late husband's, took out a revolver she knew to be loaded, and dropped it into her pocket. When she left the edge of the Black Rock she walked carefully to the cliff and ascended by the path. When she reached the level of the downs she gazed round. She started. A loud explosion rose from beneath her feet. It was the gunfire of the boat and the tremendous reverberations from the caves and cliffs. She looked round in alarm. A minute ago she had been alone. Now Michael Fahey stood by her side! CHAPTER XLIV. A LAST APPEAL. "Michael Fahey! Michael Fahey!" cried Mrs. Davenport, slowly. "Am I awake and sane?" "Both," answered he, gently. "You are awake and sane, and I am Fahey, and alive. Nothing can be more incredible; but it is as I say, Mrs. Davenport. You will not betray me? You will not be unmerciful to me? Remember, I never meant to do you harm." She shrank back from him. Did this man, whose hands were reddened with her husband's blood, dare to plead to her for mercy. "Betray you! What do you mean? Do you call it betraying you to give you into the hands of justice? You will gain nothing by threats. I am not afraid of you; and I am not defenceless, even though I am alone." She moved further off, and pressed the revolver in her hand. He seemed dejected rather than alarmed. "What good can it do you? When I disappeared years ago, it was for the good of your husband----" He held out his hands appealingly to her. Her tone and attitude were firm, as she interrupted him. "You disappeared years ago for the good of my husband, and reappear for his death--for his murder! I can have no more words with you. I shall certainly not shield you from the consequences of your crime." "If you only knew me as well as you might--if you could only understand how I felt that day I was hunted like a beast, you could not believe I would willingly do anything to annoy, much less to harm you.... Mrs. Davenport," he burst out, vehemently, "I would have died then for you: I will die now if you bid me--die for that second rose." She looked at him with a glance of loathing, and gathered herself together as though she felt contaminated by contact with the air he breathed. "Go away at once. Your audacity is loathsome. Has it come to this with me, that I must bandy words with such a monster?" "Mrs. Davenport," said he, in a tone of expostulation, "I am very far from saying I am blameless. I have committed crimes for which the punishment would be great, but I was not alone in my crimes. I did not invent them."