"He's gone," whispered Mallory.
Anthony Harding made no response. They did not hear any further firing behind them. On and on they trudged. Night turned to day. Day rolled slowly on into night once more. And still they staggered on, footsore and weary. Mallory suffered excruciating agony from his wound. There were times when it seemed that it would be impossible for him to continue another yard; but then the thought that Barbara Harding was somewhere ahead of them, and that in a short time now they must be with her once more kept him doggedly at his painful task.
They had reached the river and were following slowly down its bank. The moon, full and gorgeous, flooded the landscape with silvery light.
"Look!" exclaimed Mallory. "The island!"
"Thank God!" whispered Harding, fervently.
On the bank opposite they stopped and hallooed. Almost instantly three figures rushed from the interior of the island to the shore before them--two men and a woman.
"Barbara!" cried Anthony Harding. "O my daughter! My daughter!"
Norris and Foster hastened through the river and brought the two men to the island. Barbara Harding threw herself into her father's arms. A moment later she had grasped Mallory's outstretched hands, and then she looked beyond them for another.
"Mr. Byrne?" she asked. "Where is Mr. Byrne?"
"He is dead," said Anthony Harding.
The girl looked, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, at her father for a full minute.
"Dead!" she moaned, and fell unconscious at his feet.