Isobel's drooping was of brief endurance. Elsie and Mrs. Somerville
supported her to the stateroom, and there Elsie sat with her a little
while, soothing her as one might comfort a child in pain. Once it
seemed that the stricken girl was on the point of confiding in her
friend, but the imminent words died away in a passion of tears. Elsie
besought her to rest, and strove to calm her with predictions of the
joyous days they would pass together when the stress and terror of
their present life should be a tale that is told.
Isobel, stupefied by some haunting knowledge which appeared to have a
vague connection with the misfortunes of the Kansas, yielded to
Elsie's gentle compulsion, and endeavored to close her eyes. All was
quiet in the cabin, save for the sufferer's labored breathing, and an
occasional sob, while her wondering nurse smoothed her luxuriant hair,
and whispered those meaningless little phrases which have such magic
influence on the distracted nerves of woman-kind. There was hardly a
sound on the ship, beyond an unexplained creaking of pulleys, which
soon ceased.
Mrs. Somerville had gone, in response to Elsie's mute appeal. Somehow,
from a piecing together of hints and half phrases, the girl feared a
painful disclosure as the outcome of Isobel's hysteria. She was glad
it had been averted. If there were hidden scandals in her friend's
life in Chile, she prayed they might remain at rest. She had not
forgotten Christobal's guarded words. He probably knew far more than
he chose to tell of the "summer hotel attachment" between Isobel and
Ventana at which he had hinted. But, even crediting that passing folly
with a serious aspect, why should the daughter of the richest merchant
in Valparaiso fall prostrate at the mere mention of the name of a
disreputable loafer like José the Winebag? To state the fact was to
refute it. Elsie dismissed the idea as preposterous. It was clear
enough that Isobel's break-down arose from some other cause; perhaps
the relaxed tension of existence on board the Kansas, after the
hardships borne on the island, supplied a simple explanation.
Through the open port she heard a man walk rapidly along the deck, and
halt outside the door. She half rose from her knees to answer the
expected knock, thinking that Mrs. Somerville had sent a steward to
ascertain if Miss Baring needed anything. But the newcomer evidently
changed his mind, and turned back. Then came Courtenay's voice, low
but compelling: "One moment, M'sieu' de Poincilit. A word with you."
The French Count! During the whirl of the previous night, and by
reason of the abiding joy of her morning's reverie, she had failed to
miss the dapper Frenchman. Once, indeed, she had mentioned him to
Isobel, who offered a brief surmise that he might be ill, and keeping
to his cabin. Yet, here he was on deck, and possibly on the point of
seeking an interview with the lady to whom he had paid such close
attention during the early days of the voyage. Perhaps Mrs. Somerville
had told him of the fainting fit, and he was about to make a friendly
inquiry when the captain accosted him. But Elsie's ears, tuned to fine
precision where her lover's utterances were concerned, had caught the
note of contemptuous command, and she was even more surprised by the
Count's flurried answer in French: "Another time, M'sieu'. I pray you pardon me now. I find I am not
strong enough yet to venture on deck."