Now, that cabin, ever since Griffith's death, I had occupied, and you
may guess the sensations with which I followed the armed and murderous
sleep-walker as she glided to what I must call my berth, and
noiselessly opened the door of it. The moment she was in the cabin her
motions grew amazingly swift. She stepped to the side of the bunk I
was in the habit of using, and lifting the knife plunged it once, deep
and hard--then came away, so nimbly that it was with difficulty I made
room for her in the doorway to pass. I heard her breathe hard and fast
as she swept by, and I stood in the doorway of my cabin watching her
till her figure disappeared in her own berth.
So, then, the mystery was at an end. Poor Captain Griffith's murderess
was his adored sweetheart! She had killed him in her sleep, and knew
it not. In the blindness of slumber she had repeated the enormous
tragedy, as sinless nevertheless as the angel who looked down and
beheld her and pitied her!
I went on deck and sent for the doctor, to whom I communicated what I
had seen, and he at once repaired to Miss Le Grand's berth accompanied
by the stewardess, and found her peacefully resting in her bunk. No
knife was to be seen.
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