The name acted like magic. Dale shook himself free of the admiral and Margot, loosening Myra's wrist in the act, and with an angry snarl, like that of some wild beast, fixed his hands on Stratton's throat. In spite of his last meeting Guest flew to his friend's assistance, and Margot bravely flung her arms about her patient's waist; but in spite of all the man's strength for the moment was gigantic, and, paying no heed to the others, he sought to vent his rage upon Stratton, who felt himself growing weaker and weaker in his enemy's grasp. Twice over as they swayed here and there he caught sight of Myra's face convulsed with horror while she clung to her cousin, and her look unnerved him so that it would have gone hard with him but for the arrival of a party of four men who had landed from the boat that had kept pace with them along the shore. One of these was the fisherman, the two others were a couple of _gendarmes_ and another fisher, and the two officers threw themselves into the fray, with the result that the next minute Dale was firmly secured and held. "This is the man, then," panted one of the officers. "Yes," said the fisherman from the cottage. "I say he tried to strangle this gentleman in the night at my place. Look at his throat." "It is quite true," said Brettison. "And you told us, monsieur," cried the fisherman reproachfully, "that your friend was imbecile, and that we need not fear." "Yes," said Brettison sadly. "I was wrong, but I have been punished for my sin. Malcolm Stratton," he continued, turning to his friend, who stood there with his breast heaving still, and gazing wildly at Myra, who met his eyes with a piteous look, mingled of gratitude, sorrow, and despair, "I call upon you for the sake of all here to denounce this man to the officers." "I cannot," said Stratton, with a quick look from Myra to Sir Mark and back. "That task shall never be mine." "Will monsieur say those words in French?" said the officer who had spoken before, and who was busy brushing the sand from his uniform. "I understand English a little, but I cannot trust myself at a time like this." "Forgive me, then, Sir Mark," said Brettison firmly, and speaking now in excellent French, "and you, too, my child," he said, taking and kissing Myra's hand. "I have tried for your sake and that of the man I love as a son to spare you pain, but the time has come when this must end. Officers, this man, an imbecile save at rare intervals, when he has these violent homicidal fits, is James Barron, or Dale, a convict escaped from one of the English pris--" Myra uttered a wild cry and hid her face on her aunt's breast. "Brettison!" roared Stratton. "Mr Brettison, have you taken leave of your senses?" cried Sir Mark. "James Barron!"