She could not catch the rest of the words. The stewardess did not come near her. Women laughed and cried and screamed. Tilly was all alone in her little cabin. She wondered how long she would take drowning. She could think of nothing but the horrors of death. Then all of a sudden she made up her mind not to die in a hole. She would creep upstairs and be on deck. She had read stories of shipwrecks and when the worst came boats were put out. The stewardess was a horrid woman and would not think of her. Well, she would think of herself. She would be one of the very first to leave the boat when the appalling hour of danger came, when they got to the--that unpronounceable name which she could not catch. But it was all very well for Tilly to try to get out of her berth, she found she could not. The sea took her and threw her back again into it. The sea tossed her against the side of her narrow berth, and she had to cling on with one hand to an extremely narrow rail and with the other to the top of the berth. The sea roared, the winds roared. Showers of foam flung themselves against the port-hole. The combined sounds spoke of nothing but death, death, death! Never in all her life had she been so miserable before. Even The Desmond and Malachi were nothing to this anguish. She would sink to the bottom of the deep, deep sea and no one would be very, very sorry. Why should they? Had she ever made anyone love her? Her father--had he not punished her and been cross to her all her days! Her stepmother--had she not been sly and told false things about Tilly? Well, they would not have any more trouble with her again; she would eat her last supper with Davy Jones. She felt confused, slightly raving! What sort of supper would he give her? Fishes, of course, all sorts of fishes and then afterwards the big fishes would eat her and no one would lament unless perhaps, perhaps _Margot_! But no, it was impossible to think that Margot would be sorry. Why should a shopgirl be sorry? She, Margot, was only that--nothing more at all, although they did make such a fuss about her at Desmondstown. Suddenly in the midst of her meditations there came a curious and remarkable lull. She no longer found it necessary to cling to either one side or the other of the berth. It seemed as though someone, she thought it was Margot, had poured oil on the disturbed waters. Might she, could she, would she be allowed to save even such a wicked girl as Tilly? Tilly acknowledged now that she was wicked and that Margot was good and then all of a sudden the stewardess bustled in.