"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. But it was only six-thirty. This at once thrilled her and worried her. “Let’s go outside. We married, and for a time we were happy. Why aren’t you folded up clean in lavender—as every young woman ought to be? What have you been doing with yourself?. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock had been doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a good sailor, which was true.
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