“But you have made a world of trouble for your friends.” “I can’t help it. I don’t care what any one thinks but Mary. She feels bad about it. I wouldn’t have done it if I had thought it would make her feel so.” “But you will be arrested, Ross.” “I can’t help it,” added Ross, doggedly. “If any jury will hang me for that, I am willing to be hanged.” “You will hang yourself! Why did you tell me?” “I thought you had better know what ailed Mary.” “You mus’n’t speak of it again. Who knows it now?” “Only you and Mary.” “Don’t speak of it to any one else,” said Dr. Bilks, earnestly, as they stepped into the boat. “I shall not be likely to talk much about it.” “Perhaps the body will not be found. If it is not, you may never be suspected.” “I don’t care much what becomes of me.” “For Mary’s sake you must keep still. I am afraid you have wronged her, more than any one else, Ross.” “How can that be?” “I have no doubt that Buckstone was really her husband.” “He told her he was not; and those words sealed his doom. When she told me that, I didn’t wait to hear any more. I was so mad, I could not keep still.” “There is some mistake, Ross.” “No; there isn’t.” “If either Buckstone or Mary _intended_ to be married, even if the man who performed the ceremony was neither a clergyman nor a justice of the peace, the marriage is legal. That is the law of the state,” replied Dr. Bilks, who had evidently been reading the law books on this subject. “He didn’t intend to marry her,” replied Ross, with an oath. “Perhaps it may be proved that he did; if so, the marriage was legal.” The boat had now reached the landing, and Ross and the doctor walked up to the house. Mary was a little better; but Dr. Bilks prescribed for her. Nothing was said about the murder, for the poor girl was trying to forget her own woe in seeking the safety of her brother. The doctor was equally prudent, and did not betray his knowledge of the terrible affair. He remained an hour, and then Ross returned to the Port with him. “You must be very cautious, Ross,” said Dr. Bilks, as they entered the boat. “It might go hard with you, if this thing is found out.” “It will be found out; it will be all over town by to-morrow morning,” replied the murderer, indifferently. “Not unless you tell of it. I will keep still, and I am sure Mary will. She did not speak to me about it.” “It cannot be covered up; I don’t care whether it is or not. If I have done wrong, I am willing to suffer for it.” “But think of Mary.” “That is all that troubles me. If it wasn’t for her, I would go to the deputy sheriff and give myself up. But it will all come out.” “It need not. Only you and I know anything about it--except Mary.” “Yes; there is another man who must know all about it.” “Another!” “There was somebody with Buckstone on the beach.” “That’s bad; you didn’t tell me of this before.” “I didn’t even think of it.” “Who was the person?”