IV

Vera had been restless all the morning. She had avoided Emily Brent with a kind of shuddering

aversion.

Miss Brent herself had taken a chair just round the corner of the house so as to be out of

the wind. She sat there knitting.

Every time Vera thought of her she seemed to see a pale drowned face with seaweed

entangled in the hair … A face that had once been pretty—impudently pretty perhaps—and

which was now beyond the reach of pity or terror.

And Emily Brent, placid and righteous, sat knitting.

On the main terrace, Mr. Justice Wargrave sat huddled in a porter’s chair. His head was

poked down well into his neck.

When Vera looked at him, she saw a man standing in the dock—a young man with fair

hair and blue eyes and a bewildered frightened face. Edward Seton. And in imagination she saw

the judge’s old hands put the black cap on his head and begin to pronounce sentence….

After a while Vera strolled slowly down to the sea. She walked along towards the extreme

end of the island where an old man sat staring out to the horizon.

General Macarthur stirred at her approach. His head turned—there was a queer mixture of

questioning and apprehension in his look. It startled her. He stared intently at her for a minute

or two.

She thought to herself:

“How queer. It’s almost as though he knew.…”

He said:

“Ah, it’s you! You’ve come….”

Vera sat down beside him. She said:

“Do you like sitting here looking out to sea?”

He nodded his head gently.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s pleasant. It’s a good place, I think, to wait.”

“To wait?” said Vera sharply. “What are you waiting for?”

He said gently:

“The end. But I think you know that, don’t you? It’s true, isn’t it? We’re all waiting for the

end.”

She said unsteadily:

“What do you mean?”

General Macarthur said gravely:

“None of us are going to leave the island. That’s the plan. You know it, of course,

perfectly. What, perhaps, you can’t understand is the relief!”

Vera said wonderingly:

“The relief?”

He said:

“Yes. Of course, you’re very young … you haven’t got to that yet. But it does come! The

blessed relief when you know that you’ve done with it all—that you haven’t got to carry the

burden any longer. You’ll feel that too, someday….”

Vera said hoarsely:

“I don’t understand you.”

Her fingers worked spasmodically. She felt suddenly afraid of this quiet old soldier.

He said musingly:

“You see, I loved Leslie. I loved her very much….”

Vera said questioningly:

“Was Leslie your wife?”

“Yes, my wife … I loved her—and I was very proud of her. She was so pretty—and so

gay.”

He was silent for a minute or two, then he said:

“Yes, I loved Leslie. That’s why I did it.”

Vera said:

“You mean—” and paused.

General Macarthur nodded his head gently.

“It’s not much good denying it now—not when we’re all going to die. I sent Richmond to

his death. I suppose, in a way, it was murder. Curious. Murder—and I’ve always been such a

law-abiding man! But it didn’t seem like that at the time. I had no regrets. ‘Serves him damned

well right!’—that’s what I thought. But afterwards—”

In a hard voice, Vera said:

“Well, afterwards?”

He shook his head vaguely. He looked puzzled and a little distressed.

“I don’t know. I—don’t know. It was all different, you see. I don’t know if Leslie ever

guessed … I don’t think so. But, you see, I didn’t know about her anymore. She’d gone far

away where I couldn’t reach her. And then she died—and I was alone….”

Vera said:

“Alone—alone—” and the echo of her voice came back to her from the rocks.

General Macarthur said:

“You’ll be glad, too, when the end comes.”

Vera got up. She said sharply:

“I don’t know what you mean!”

He said:

“I know, my child. I know.…”

“You don’t. You don’t understand at all….”

General Macarthur looked out to sea again. He seemed unconscious of her presence behind

him.

He said very gently and softly:

“Leslie …?”