The physician, though he appeared genial enough, was in fact greatly perturbed. He had tried in vain to secure morphia at either of the stores in Atlantic. He took advantage of his absence from Ethel to administer another injection, so that for the present the craving was stilled. But he was filled with dread for the future. While the launch moved forward steadily through the calm water, he secretly counted again the pellets remaining in the vial. Heartsick, he realized the truth. It was a matter only of a few hours before his stock of the drug would be entirely exhausted. In such a situation, knowing as he did the horrible suffering that must ensue to him for lack of morphia, Garnet did not hesitate. He had learned by inquiries that there was a physician at Portsmouth, on the south side of Ocracoke Inlet, at the extreme northerly end of Core Banks. He must direct the launch thither, there to seek relief from his fellow practitioner. There was even the possibility of whiskey to mitigate his torture, for as one of the natives had informed him in Atlantic, "No'th Caroliny wasn't plumb bone-dry." For some time now, Ethel Marion had closely watched her companion. She could not but perceive how different was his manner from that of the man who, for years, had visited her father's house whenever medical aid was needed. Formerly he had been full of life and vigor; a man of most affable bearing, while now he was morose, almost diffident. Since her return to consciousness, she had not once seen a smile on his face. Instead, his expression was always abstracted and remote. Moreover, at times, the girl had seen him turn his face quickly to the south as if moved by some irresistible and baneful attraction. And, too, at such times he had shuddered visibly. Ethel felt convinced that there remained something very frightful in the story still to be told concerning the wreck of the yacht. As she watched the man, a vague fear developed in her--a fear of him, for him. She had as yet no suspicion that she had been in mortal peril through the act of this man. But she was more than half convinced that he could be no longer a safe protector, for the peculiarity of his appearance and manner soon convinced her that he was actually deranged. It was evident that he desired to be left to his own musings. So, for a long time, she refrained from any attempt toward conversation. She even feigned sleep, but through the long, brown lashes she continued to study the worn and harassed visage before her. And it was during this period of sly observation that she detected his deft resort to the hypodermic syringe. She witnessed as well the febrile anxiety with which he once more inspected the number of pellets. She noted with dismay the horror in his drawn features as he stared at the vial. Her ears even caught his whispered words: "Only two!"