She could scarcely believe that it was she, Elsie Maxwell, who stood

there on the tremulous island of the ship amidst a stormy ocean the

like of which she had never seen before. She seemed to possess an

entity apart from herself, to be a passive witness of events as in a

dream; presently, she would awake and find that she was back in her

pleasant room at the Morrisons' hacienda, or tucked up in her own

comfortable cabin. Yet here was proof positive that the terror which

environed her was real. Bound up with the thunder of the gale were the

words, "Your loving sister, Madge"--evidently the sister Captain

Courtenay had spoken of--"matron of a hospital in the suburbs of

London," he said. Would he ever see her again? Or his mother? Had he

thought of them at all during this night of woe? Beneath his iron mask

did tears lurk, and dull agony, and palsied fear--surely a man could

suffer like a woman, even though he endured most nobly?

And then, not thinking in the least what she was doing, she scrutinized

the closely tied packet. She wondered idly why he treasured so many

missives. Each and every one, oddly enough, was written on differently

sized and variously colored note-paper. And it could be seen at a

glance that they were from as many different people. The outside

letter was the most clearly visible. Miss Courtenay wrote a

well-formed, flowing hand. If handwriting were a clue to character,

she was a candid, generous, open-minded woman.

But what was this? Elsie suddenly threw down the letters. She had

read a sentence at the top of the page twice before she actually

grasped its purport. When its significance dawned on her, she flushed

violently. For this was what she read: "I am glad of it, too, because under no other circumstances would I

wish to greet and embrace the woman destined to be your wife."

The knowledge that she had involuntarily intruded on Captain

Courtenay's private affairs brought her back with a certain slight

shock to a sense of actualities. The storm, the horrible danger she

was in, emerged from shadow-land. Why had he not come for her? Surely

there must have been some further mishap! Heavens! Was she alone on

the ship, alone with the dead men and the dying vessel? Her head swam

with a strange faintness, and she placed a hand to her eyes. She felt

that she must leave the cabin at once, and strive to make her way

unaided along the deck. Yes, whatever happened, she would go now. It

was too dreadful to wait there any longer in ignorance as to her fate.

Then Joey sprang in through the doorway, and, with that splendid

disregard for sentiment displayed by a fox-terrier who has just come

out of a first-rate fight, shook his harness until it rattled.




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