When Isobel Baring heard this final item she fainted so badly that Dr. Christobal thought it advisable she should be taken to a hotel while the ship remained in port. But she vetoed this proposal determinedly when she recovered her senses, and straightway confessed to Elsie that Ventana was her husband. She had foolishly agreed to marry him privately, and Anacleto had witnessed the ceremony. Within a month, she regretted her choice; there were quarrels, and threats; ultimately, an agreement was made that they should separate. Her father knew and approved of the arrangement. He could not afford to break openly with Ventana, and it must have been a dreadful shock to him when he learned that the scoundrel had plotted not only to destroy the ship but to murder his wife at the same time. “So you see,” she added with a wan smile, “I did not give serious thought to your troubles, Elsie. Ventana could never have married you while I was alive.” Elsie’s cheeks reddened. “I never told you he asked me to marry him,” she said. “It would have been just the same had he done so. As it was, I feared the man. Now you know why I ran away from Chile. If I permitted another impression to prevail, I acted for the best. But the unhappy man is dead; let us endeavor to forget him.” “His memory haunts me with an enduring curse,” cried Isobel, bitterly. “Among my papers I had some letters of his, the marriage certificate, and his written promise not to molest me. On that awful night when the ship was disabled, I went to my cabin and secured them, or thought I did. At any rate, I could not find them when we landed on White Horse Island, and, from hints dropped by that wretched little adventurer, de Poincilit, I feel sure they have fallen into his hands. Believe me, Elsie, I was half mad when I helped him to steal the boat.” “Steal the boat! What boat?” “Has not Captain Courtenay told you?” “Not a word.” “Ah, he is a true gentleman. But you forget. You heard what he said to de Poincilit before he went to the Guanaco cañon?” “Yes; I did not understand. Oh, my poor Isobel, how you must have suffered, while I have been so happy.” “If only I could recover my papers—” “May I ask Arthur to help?” “He knows the worst of me already. One more shameful disclosure cannot add to my degradation.” “Isobel, how little you know him!” Thus spoke Elsie, after fourteen days. Truly there is much enlightenment in a hug!