"She died?"

"Before I ever set eyes on her, miss. That is, MAYBE she died. I
sometimes think--fact is, I really believe she's alive yet, and
waiting for me." He hesitated awkwardly. "I dunno," he said
pulling his beard. "I don't usually tell that story to strange
folk, but you remind me so of her that I guess I will."

Condy sat down on the edge of the bunk, and the mate seated
himself on the plush settle opposite the door, his elbows on his
knees, his eyes fixed on a patch of bright sunlight upon the deck
outside.

"I began life," he said, "as a deep-sea diver--began pretty young,
too. I first put on the armor when I was twenty, nothing but a
lad; but I could take the pressure up to seventy pounds even then.
One of my very first dives was off Trincomalee, on the coast of
Ceylon. A mail packet had gone down in a squall with all on
board. Six of the bodies had come up and had been recovered, but
the seventh hadn't. It was the body of the daughter of the
governor of the island, a beautiful young girl of nineteen, whom
everybody loved. I was sent for to go down and bring the body up.
Well, I went down. The packet lay in a hundred feet of water, and
that's a wonder deep dive. I had to go down twice. The first
time I couldn't find anything, though I went all through the
berth-deck. I came up to the wrecking-float and reported that I
had seen nothing. There were a lot of men there belonging to the
wrecking gang, and some correspondents of London papers. But they
would have it that she was below, and had me go down again. I
did, and this time I found her."