I put my arms round her and held her to my breast with all my force in a clasp that must have been painful to her, but she only laughed delightedly.

Then my promise came back to me.  It was impossible to break that.  What was the good of torturing myself when I had made it impossible to take her.  Why had she come here?

“Where is your husband?” I asked mechanically wondering if any strange fate had removed him from between us.

“Oh, I put him to sleep, he will give no trouble.  I gave him opium, so much opium, he will sleep a long time.”

“You have not killed him?” I said, in a sudden horror.

Her eyes were wide open and full of extraordinary fire, she seemed in those moments capable of anything.

She put up her little hands and ran them through my hair.

“Such black hair,” she murmured.  “Ah, how I love it!  I love black hair.  How it shines, how soft it is!  I hate grey hair.  It is horrid.  No, I have not killed him.  He will wake again when we have sailed and are far away from Sitka.”

These words drove from me the last veil of clinging sleep.  I kept my arms round her and said: 

“But, Suzee, I can’t take you with me.  I promised your husband to-night I would not.”

“That’s nothing,” she replied lightly; “promises are nothing when one loves.  And you love me, Treevor; you must love me, and I am coming with you, you can’t drive me away.”

The ship’s bells sounded overhead on deck as she spoke.  The sound seemed a warning.  I knew our ship was due to leave in the morning; I did not know quite when.  If it left the quay with the girl on board, the horror of a broken promise would cling to me all my life.

“I can’t take you, it is impossible.  You must go back and try to forget you have ever seen me.  You must go now at once, our ship is leaving soon.”

“I know,” said Suzee tranquilly; “and I shall be so happy when it starts.”

I pushed her aside and got up from the berth.  The cabin window stood wide open.  In the position the ship was it was easy to come in and out through it from the quay.  She must have entered that way.

“You must go,” I said between my teeth.  I was afraid of myself.  Overhead I heard movements and clanking chains and shuffling feet.  Our ship was leaving, and she was still on board with me.

“Go out of that window now, instantly, or I shall put you out.”

“You will not, Treevor,” beginning to cry; “you won’t be so unkind.  I only want to stay with you; let me stay.”

She was half-sitting on the edge of my berth, clinging to it with both hands.  She was pale with an ivory pallor, her breasts rose in sobs under the transparent muslin of her vest.

The ship gave a great heave under our feet.

The blood beat so in my head and round my eyes I could hardly see her.  I moved to her, clinging to one blind object.  I bent over her and lifted her up.  She was like a doll in weight.  She was nothing to me.