Up through her hair went
her two white, bare arms, encircling St. Pierre's neck. The giant
drew her close. Her slim form seemed to melt in his, and their
lips met.
And then the woman threw back her head, laughing, so that her
glory of hair fell straight down, and she was out of reach of St.
Pierre's lips. They turned. Her face fronted the window, and out
in the night Carrigan stifled a cry that almost broke from his
lips. For a flash he was looking straight into her eyes. Her
parted lips seemed smiling at him; her white throat and bosom were
bared to him. He dropped down, his heart choking him as he
stumbled through the darkness to the edge of the raft. There, with
the lap of the water at his feet, he paused. It was hard for him
to get Breath. He stared through the gloom in the direction of the
bateau. Marie-Anne Boulain, the woman he loved, was there! In her
little cabin, alone, on the bateau, was St. Pierre's wife, her
heart crushed.
And in this cabin on the raft, forgetful of her degradation and
her grief, was the vilest wretch he had ever known--St. Pierre
Boulain. And with him, giving herself into his arms, caressing him
with her lips and hair, was the sister of the man he had helped to
hang--CARMIN FANCHET!
XX
The shock of the amazing discovery which Carrigan had made was as
complete as it was unexpected.
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