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.