on to the oily sea. Men began to cut the covers off the boats, and to
swing some of them outboard. Such were the things that went on about
them.

With the senseless Benita clasped to his breast, the blood from her cut
head running down his shoulder, Robert stood still awhile, thinking.
Then he made up his mind. As it chanced, she had a deck cabin, and
thither he forced his way, carrying her tenderly and with patience
through the distracted throng of passengers, for there were five hundred
souls on board that ship. He reached the place to find that it was quite
empty, her cabinmate having fled. Laying Benita upon the lower bunk,
he lit the swinging candle. As soon as it burned up he searched for
the lifebelts and by good fortune found two of them, one of which, not
without great difficulty, he succeeded in fastening round her. Then he
took a sponge and bathed her head with water. There was a great bruise
upon her temple where the block or whatever it was had struck her, and
the blood still flowed; but the wound was not very deep or extensive,
nor, so far as he could discover, did the bone appear to be broken or
driven in. He had good hope that she was only stunned, and would revive
presently. Unable to do more for her, a thought struck him. On the floor
of the cabin, thrown by the shock from the rack, lay her writing case.
He opened it, and taking a piece of paper wrote these words hurriedly in
pencil:

"You gave me no answer, and it is more than probable that I shall
receive none in this world which one or both of us may be upon the
verge of leaving. In the latter case we can settle the matter
elsewhere--perhaps. In the former, should it be my lot to go and yours
to stay, I hope that you will think kindly of me at times as of one
who loved you truly. Should it be yours to go, then you will never read