Why had Varick tried to do her to death?
She admitted to herself that she had never liked him, but she had never done him any harm.

And they had been on good terms--outwardly--always.
For hours, amid fitful, nightmarish snatches of sleep, and long, lucid intervals of thought, Bubbles had wrestled with the question.
And then, lying there in the early morning, Bubbles _suddenly knew_.
Varick hated and feared her because she had unwittingly raised his wife from the dead.

And, believing that if he killed her, he would lay that sinister, vengeful, unquiet ghost, he had deliberately planned yesterday's expedition in order to do that which he had so nearly succeeded in doing.
Bubbles gave an eerie little chuckle which startled herself.

"I'd have haunted him!" she muttered aloud.

"He'd have found it more difficult to get rid of me dead than alive." Even as she murmured the words, the door opened, and she heard a voice say, hesitatingly, "Then you're awake, Bubbles?
Somehow I felt you were awake, and I thought you might like a cup of tea." It was Bill Donnington, with a lighted candle in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other.
How glad she was to see him! How very, very glad! Yet he only looked his usual sober, unromantic self, standing there at the bottom of her pretty old walnut-wood bed, looking at her with all his wistful, faithful soul in his eyes.
Bill was fully dressed, and Bubbles burst out laughing, feebly.
"You _are_ an early bird!" she exclaimed.