The sun was painting the black arms of the
semaphore as she toiled over the last stretch of sand and knocked
loudly at the door. There was no reply. She knocked again; the cabin was
silent. Had he already fled?--and without seeing her and knowing all!
She tried the handle of the door; it yielded; she stepped boldly into
the room, with his name upon her lips. He was lying fully dressed upon
his couch. She ran eagerly to his side and stopped. It needed only a
single glance at his congested face, his lips parted with his heavy
breath, to see that the man was hopelessly, helplessly drunk!
Yet even then, without knowing that it was her thoughtless speech which
had driven him to seek this foolish oblivion of remorse and sorrow,
she saw only his HELPLESSNESS. She tried in vain to rouse him; he
only muttered a few incoherent words and sank back again. She looked
despairingly around. Something must be done; the steamer might be
visible at any moment. Ah, yes,--the telescope! She seized it and swept
the horizon.
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