"You saved my life," she repeated slowly. It seemed that this obvious
fact needed to be indelibly established in her mind. Indeed the girl
was overwrought by all that she had gone through. Only by degrees were
her thoughts marshaling themselves with lucid coherence. As yet, she
recalled so many dramatic incidents that they failed to assume due
proportion.

But quickly there came memories of Captain Ross, of Sir John and Lady
Tozer, of the doctor, her maid, the hundred and one individualities of
her pleasant life aboard ship. Could it be that they were all dead? The
notion was monstrous. But its ghastly significance was instantly borne
in upon her by the plight in which she stood. Her lips quivered; the
tears trembled in her eyes.

"Is it really true that all the ship's company except ourselves are
lost?" she brokenly demanded.

The sailor's gravely earnest glance fell before hers. "Unhappily there
is no room for doubt," he said.

"Are you quite, quite sure?"

"I am sure--of some." Involuntarily he turned seawards.

She understood him. She sank to her knees, covered her face with her
hands, and broke into a passion of weeping. With a look of infinite
pity he stooped and would have touched her shoulder, but he suddenly
restrained the impulse. Something had hardened this man. It cost him an
effort to be callous, but he succeeded. His mouth tightened and his
expression lost its tenderness.