I listened for some minutes, and was just going away, when I heard a step on the landing. Could it be Harry Drake? I did not wish him to find me here, for Fabian and Ellen’s sake; fortunately I could get on deck, without being seen, by a passage leading round the cabins. However, I stopped to know who it really was that I had heard. The darkness partially hid me, and standing behind an angle of the passage I could see without being myself in sight. In the meantime the sound of the footsteps had ceased, and with it, as a strange coincident, Ellen’s voice. I waited and soon the song began again, and the boards creaked under a stealthy tread; I leaned forward and, in the dim, uncertain light which glimmered through the cracks of the cabin doors, I recognized Fabian. It was my unhappy friend! What instinct could have led him to this place? Had he then discovered the young woman’s retreat before me? I did not know what to think. Fabian slowly advanced along the passage, listening, following the voice, as if it was a thread drawing him unconsciously on, and in spite of himself. It seemed to me that the song grew fainter as he approached, and that the thread thus held was about to break. Fabian went quite near to the cabin doors and then stopped. How those sad accents must have rent his heart! and how his whole being must have thrilled as he caught some tone in the voice, which reminded him of the past! But how was it, ignorant as he was of Harry Drake being on board, that he had any suspicion of Ellen’s presence? No, it was impossible; he had only been attracted by the plaintive accents which insensibly responded to the great grief weighing down his spirit. [Illustration: FABIAN WENT NEAR TO THE CABIN DOORS.] Fabian was still listening. What was he going to do? Would he call to the mad woman? And what if Ellen suddenly appeared? Everything was dangerous in this situation! However, Fabian came nearer still to the door of her cabin; the song, which was growing fainter and fainter, suddenly died away, and a piercing shriek was heard. Had Ellen, by a magnetic communication, felt him whom she loved so near her? Fabian’s attitude was desperate; he had gathered himself up. Was he going to break the door open? I thought he would, so I rushed up to him. He recognized me; I dragged him away, and he made no resistance, but asked me in a hollow voice, “Do you know who that unhappy woman is?” “No, Fabian, no.” “It is the mad woman,” said he, in an unnatural voice, “but this madness is not without remedy. I feel that a little devotion, a little love, would cure the poor woman.” “Come, Fabian,” said I, “come away.” We went on deck, but Fabian did not utter another word. I did not leave him, however, until he had reached his cabin. CHAPTER XXIII.