"We can beat _her_" he said, with a contemptuous accent on the
"her."
"That's your business," I returned, and walked aft to where Mrs. Knapp
was standing, half-way up the steps from the cabin.
"There is Darby Meeker," I said, getting sight of him on the pursuing
tug.
"Can they catch us?" inquired Mrs. Knapp, the lines tightening about
her mouth.
"I think not--the captain says not. I should say that we were holding
our own now."
At this moment a tall, massive figure stepped from the pilot-house of
the pursuing tug and shook its fists at us. At the sight of the man my
heart stood still. The huge bulk, the wolf-face, just distinguishable,
distorted, dark with rage and passion, stopped the blood, and I felt a
faintness as of dropping from a height. With a gasp, life and voice
came back to me.
"Doddridge Knapp!" I cried.
Mrs. Knapp looked at me in alarm, and grasped the rail.
"No! no!" she exclaimed. "A thousand times no! That is Elijah Lane!"
I gazed at her in wonder. Not Doddridge Knapp! Had my eyes played me
false?
"Do you not understand?" she said in a low, intense tone. "He is Elijah
Lane, the father of the boy. An evil, wicked man--mad--truly mad. He
would kill the boy. He killed the mother of the boy. I know, but it is
not a case for proof--not a case that the law can touch. And he hates
the boy--and me!"
I began to grasp the truth, and recovered speech.
"But why does he want to kill him? And would not the law punish the
crime?"
"You do not understand.
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