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."