She stooped, ostensibly to grasp the dog's collar.

"Before you leave me," she said, "let me tell you how sorry I am for

you."

He ran down the stairs, and entered the small saloon, which had been

hastily converted into a hospital. Perhaps it would be better

described as a mortuary, for it held more dead than living.

Christobal, aided by two sailors, was wrapping lint round a fireman's

seared arm. Happily, there was an abundance of cotton sheets

available, and the men tore them into strips. But the comparatively

small supply of cotton wool carried in the ship's stores, and in the

doctor's private medicine chest had long since given out.

"Miss Maxwell is here. She asked me to bring her to you in case she

might be able to render you some assistance," explained Courtenay.

Christobal drew himself upright, with the slowness of an elderly man

whose joints are stiffening.

"Miss Maxwell here?" he repeated, obviously surprised, if not

displeased. He waved a hand towards the men laid on mattresses on the

deck. Most were quite motionless; others writhed in agony. "She

cannot come--it is impossible."

"It is her wish."

"Quite impossible. Where is she?"

"Standing in the companion."

Courtenay saw that the girl could do no good now in that chamber of

death; the mere memory of it would be an abiding horror. He wanted

Christobal himself to send her away, but the doctor had taken off his

coat and bared his arms. His appearance was grimly business-like.

"Will you tell her how much I am obliged to her for her kind thought.

But you see--it cannot be permitted. Please say that I hope to join

her in the saloon in a quarter of an hour. My work is nearly ended. I

am sure you will make her understand that this is not a place for a

woman."

Again he swept the row of silent bodies with a comprehensive hand. Yet

the trivial thought intruded itself on the sailor that this elegant old

Spaniard delegated the task of explanation to him solely because he did

not wish to appear before Miss Maxwell in a somewhat disheveled state.

He dismissed the notion at once.

"How many?" he asked, glancing at the quiet forms which bore no

bandages.

"Eleven, now. By the way, just one word. What chance have we?"

Christobal put the concluding sentence in French.

Courtenay answered in the same language: "A very poor one. But I shall

come to the saloon and warn you. That will be only fair, don't you

think?"

"Most certainly. Well--I may as well finish here." And the doctor

signed to his helpers to lift the next sufferer on to the table.

Courtenay returned to the stairway. At the top stood Elsie, looking

eagerly for his reappearance. A sense of unutterable anguish shook him

for a second as he saw the sweet face, instinct with life and beauty,

gazing down at him. How monstrous it was to think of such a fair woman

being battered out of recognition against the rocks. He bit his lip

savagely, and it is to be feared the words he swallowed were not those

of supplication. But his eyes were calm and his voice well under

control when he said: "Dr. Christobal is captain below there, Miss Maxwell, and he absolutely

vetoes your presence. He was exceedingly distressed at being compelled

to send you such a message. However, he will soon explain matters to

you in person, as he is coming aft almost at once."




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