'
Miss Harford arose, shuddering; the sun had
sunk below the horizon, but it was not cold. There
was not a breath of wind; there were no clouds in the
sky, yet not a star was visible. A hurried tramp-
ing sounded on the deck; the captain, summoned
from below, joined the first officer, who stood look-
ing at the barometer. 'Good God!' I heard him
exclaim.
An hour later the form of Janette Harford, invis-
ible in the darkness and spray, was torn from my
grasp by the cruel vortex of the sinking ship, and I
fainted in the cordage of the floating mast to which
I had lashed myself.
It was by lamplight that I awoke. I lay in a berth
amid the familiar surroundings of the state-room of
a steamer. On a couch opposite sat a man, half un-
dressed for bed, reading a book. I recognized the
face of my friend Gordon Doyle, whom I had met
in Liverpool on the day of my embarkation, when he
was himself about to sail on the steamer City of
Prague, on which he had urged me to accompany
him.
After some moments I now spoke his name. He
simply said, 'Well,' and turned a leaf in his book
without removing his eyes from the page.
'Doyle,' I repeated, 'did they save her? '
He now deigned to look at me and smiled as if
amused. He evidently thought me but half awake.
'Her? Whom do you mean?'
'Janette Harford.'
His amusement turned to amazement; he stared
at me fixedly, saying nothing.
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