“My foot caught; the floor seemed to give way under me. Ah, of course--” she bent down in the darkness--“I saw the men oiling it this morning.” Wrayford caught her by the arm. “Do take care! It might be dangerous if it slid too easily. The water’s deep under here.” “Yes; the water’s very deep. I sometimes wish--” She leaned against him without finishing her sentence, and he put both arms about her. “Hush!” he said, his lips on hers. Suddenly she threw her head back and seemed to listen. “What’s the matter? What do you hear?” “I don’t know.” He felt her trembling. “I’m not sure this place is as safe as it used to be--” Wrayford held her to him reassuringly. “But the boatman sleeps down at the village; and who else should come here at this hour?” “Cobham might. He thinks of nothing but the launch.’” “He won’t to-night. I told him I’d seen the skipper put her shipshape, and that satisfied him.” “Ah--he did think of coming, then?” “Only for a minute, when the sky looked so black half an hour ago, and he was afraid of a squall. It’s clearing now, and there’s no danger.” He drew her down on the bench, and they sat a moment or two in silence, her hands in his. Then she said: “You’d better tell me.” Wrayford gave a faint laugh. “Yes, I suppose I had. In fact, he asked me to.” “He asked you to?” “Yes.” She uttered an exclamation of contempt. “He’s afraid!” Wrayford made no reply, and she went on: “I’m not. Tell me everything, please.” “Well, he’s chucked away a pretty big sum again--” “How?” “He says he doesn’t know. He’s been speculating, I suppose. The madness of making him your trustee!” She drew her hands away. “You know why I did it. When we married I didn’t want to put him in the false position of the man who contributes nothing and accepts everything; I wanted people to think the money was partly his.” “I don’t know what you’ve made people think; but you’ve been eminently successful in one respect. _He_ thinks it’s all his--and he loses it as if it were.” “There are worse things. What was it that he wished you to tell me?” “That you’ve got to sign another promissory note--for fifty thousand this time.” “Is that all?” Wrayford hesitated; then he said: “Yes--for the present.” She sat motionless, her head bent, her hand resting passively in his. He leaned nearer. “What did you mean just now, by worse things?” She hesitated. “Haven’t you noticed that he’s been drinking a great deal lately?” “Yes; I’ve noticed.” They were both silent; then Wrayford broke out, with sudden vehemence: “And yet you won’t--” “Won’t?” “Put an end to it. Good God! Save what’s left of your life.” She made no answer, and in the stillness the throb of the water underneath them sounded like the beat of a tormented heart. “Isabel--” Wrayford murmured. He bent over to kiss her. “Isabel! I can’t stand it! listen--” “No; no. I’ve thought of everything. There’s the boy--the boy’s fond of him. He’s not a bad father.”