We could not leave a fellow-countrywoman, least of all could
Salemina forsake a fellow-citizen, in such a hapless plight.

"Take one cab with Francesca and the luggage, Penelope," she
whispered. "I will bring the girl with me, put her to bed, find her
friends, and see that she starts on her journey safely; it's very
awkward, but there's nothing else to be done."

So we departed in a chorus of popular approval.

"Sure it's you that have the good hearts!"

"May the heavens be your bed!"

"May the journey thrive wid her, the crathur!"

Francesca and I arrived first at the hotel where our rooms were
already engaged, and there proved to be a comfortable little
dressing, or maid's, room just off Salemina's.

Here the Derelict was presently ensconced, and there she lay, in a
sort of profound exhaustion, all day, without once absolutely
regaining her consciousness. Instead of visiting the National
Gallery as I had intended, I returned to the dock to see if I could
find the girl's luggage, or get any further information from the
stewardess before she left Dublin.

"I'll send the doctor at once, but we must learn all possible
particulars now," I said maliciously to poor Salemina. "It would be
so awkward, you know, if you should be arrested for abduction."