That Christobal left several things unsaid Elsie knew quite well. He

plumed himself on the reserve he had acquired from his English mother,

though in all matters pertaining to nationality he was a true hidalgo.

Indeed, there was a touch of vanity in the way he examined the sparkle

of the champagne he now poured into Elsie's empty glass. He

scrutinized the wine with the air of a connoisseur. He was looking for

the gas to rise in three or four well-defined spirals. And he nodded

doubtfully, before drinking it, as one might say: "The right brand, but of what year?"

Then it dawned on the girl that both her elderly friend and she herself

were accepting an extraordinary situation with remarkable nonchalance.

"How many of us remain on the ship?" she asked.

"Very few--on the effective list. The captain, an engineer whose name

I do not know, Mr. Tollemache, and ourselves make up the total."

"Where is Mr. Boyle?"

"Ah, poor Boyle! I fear he is done for. He is very badly wounded. I

bandaged him as well as I could, but the call on deck was imperative."

"Is he in the saloon? Should we not go to him?"

"I have only just left him. The hemorrhage has stopped, and I gave him

some brandy. Believe me, we can do nothing more for him. I told

Courtenay it was quite useless to place him on board the boat. You may

be sure he was not forgotten."

"I did not imagine that any one would be forgotten," said Elsie, and,

for some reason, the light in her eyes caused Christobal to go on

rapidly: "We have a whole crowd of injured men on board, Miss Maxwell. At

present we can render them no aid. I thought it wisest to obey orders.

The captain told me to bring you some wine and remain with you here.

It will not be for long."

"Why do you say that?"

"The ship appears to be lodged hard and fast on a reef or sandspit. I

am told the tide is rising. If that is so, our only hope is in the

raft which our three allies are now constructing. With a falling tide

we might have a breathing-space at low water. As it is, well--"

Christobal, with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other,

nevertheless waved them. Elsie, whose nervous system at this juncture

was proof against any but the last pang of imminent death, could almost

have laughed at the queer figure he cut, brandishing his arms and

standing awkwardly on the inclined deck. She bent her head to hide the

smile on her lips; she noticed that Joey was panting, the use of his

teeth on various wet legs during the tussle for the jolly-boat having

caused him to swallow more salt-water than he cared for. Elsie's

sympathies were aroused. While assuaging her own thirst she had

neglected the dog. She took a carafe of water from its wooden stand

near the table, and poured some of the contents into a tumbler. Joey's

thanks were ecstatic. He yelped with delight at the mere thought of a

drink.




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