I was perplexed. Was she altogether soulless? Even now, as we passed
among the dancers, she replied to congratulations on her make-up and
appearance with evident pleasure.

An hour later, I was taking Belle Treherne from the arm of Hungerford for
the last waltz, and, in reply to an inquiring glance from him, I shook my
head mournfully. His face showed solicitude as he walked away. Perhaps
it did not gratify my vanity that Belle Treherne, as her father limped
forward at the stroke of eight bells to take her below, said to me: "How
downright and thorough Mr. Hungerford is!" But I frankly admitted that
he was all she might say good of him, and more.

The deck was quickly dismantled, the lights went out, and all the dancers
disappeared. The masquerade was over; and again, through the darkness,
rose the plaintive "All's well!" And it kept ringing in my ears until it
became a mocking sound, from which I longed to be free. It was like the
voice of Lear crying over the body of Cordelia: "Never, never, never,
never, never!"

Something of Hungerford's superstitious feeling possessed me. I went
below, and involuntarily made my way to Boyd Madras's cabin.

Though the night was not hot, the door was drawn to. I tapped. His
voice at once asked who was there, and when I told him, and inquired how
he was, he said he was not ill, and asked me to come to his cabin in the
morning, if I would. I promised, and bade him good-night. He responded,
and then, as I turned away from the door, I heard him repeat the good-
night cordially and calmly.