"I never thought to see you again," she whispered, when his recital was finished. "Never, never. For," she went on, telling now her experiences, "I knew by midnight that what I had dreaded he would attempt was about to take place. At that hour he left off drinking, having taken much less than was usual all the evening, and rising he went to the cupboard, from which, though he thought I could not do so, I saw him take out his long knife. It was one he brought back from Uruguay, from Paysandu, where they slaughter the oxen wholesale. I have heard him say more than once that it was too good to slay beasts with, and more fit to use on men--and once he drew it upon father. So that I knew he meant ill to you. Then I tried to escape to give you warning, only he would not let me. He seized me, tied me as you saw, and gagged me, though I shrieked once, hoping to alarm you--indeed, he threatened to kill me. And, at last, after he had also tied the dog--he would have slain that too, I feel sure, had it uttered one cry--he left me to the horrors of the night. Without one word he went away, not even saying when he would return. And," the girl concluded, "when I heard your pistol shots I fainted from fear--fear of what was going on. Oh! thank God, thank God, that he did not murder you--that you were not obliged to take his life in self-defence." "I am thankful, too," he said; "above all things, thankful for your sake." After which he added, "Now, Barbara, would it not be best for you to come with me and see his body? I must bury it, you know, and then I ought to go over to Tortola and tell the Commissioner. I suppose he should be informed of his death." "I suppose so," she said. "Only--how are you to go? The yacht is lost." "There is his own boat. Where is that?" But Barbara could not tell him, and soon after he found out. But now he prepared to go back to the beach to bury her brother's body, and he was not altogether surprised when she refused to accompany him. "You have told me he is dead and how he died," she said. "That is enough--what more can I need? And for himself--oh! why should I see him? He never cared for me as a brother should, his last act was one of cruelty to me, and he went forth to murder you. Moreover, he was callous about father's death, did indeed rejoice in it, I believe, because by it he became master of the place. No, I will not go and see him; I could not bear to look upon him again. And," she concluded, "my only regret is that you should have the task of burying him. It would have been better almost had he sunk to the bottom of the river." Therefore Reginald went off upon this duty, but before he did so he gave to Barbara the water-soaked packet of papers which he had taken from Alderly's shirt-pocket.