'Ladies and gentlemen, anyone wishing to send telegrams to friends has a few minutes now to write them. The mate will take them ashore with him, and will send them from the first office that he reaches. No letters can be taken, only telegrams.' Miss Brewster looked up languidly from her book during the first part of this recital. Then she sprang suddenly to her feet, and threw the book on the deck. 'Who is it will take the telegrams?' she asked the steward. 'The mate, miss. There he is standing yonder, miss.' She made her way quickly to that official. 'Will you take a cable despatch to be sent to New York?' 'Yes, miss. Is it a very long one?' he asked. 'Yes, it is a very long one.' 'Well, miss,' was the answer, 'you haven't much time to write it. We leave now in a very few minutes.' 'It is all written out; I have only to add a few words to it.' Miss Brewster at once flew to her state-room. The telegram about the mine was soon before her with the words counted, and the silver and gold that were to pay for it piled on the table. She resolved to run no risk of delay by having the message sent 'to collect.' Then she dashed off, as quickly as she could, a brief and very graphic account of the disaster which had overtaken the _Caloric_. If this account was slightly exaggerated, Miss Brewster had no time to tone it down. Picturesque and dramatic description was what she aimed at. Her pen flew over the paper with great rapidity, and she looked up every now and then, through her state-room window, to see dangling from the ropes the boat that was to make the attempt to reach the Irish coast. As she could thus see how the preparations for the departure were going forward, she lingered longer than she might otherwise have done, and added line after line to the despatch which told of the disaster. At last she saw the men take their places in the longboat. She hurriedly counted the words in the new despatch she had written, and quickly from her purse piled the gold that was necessary to pay for their transmission. Then she sealed the two despatches in an envelope, put the two piles of gold into one after rapidly counting them again, cast a quick look up at the still motionless boat, grasped the gold in one hand, the envelope in the other, and sprang to her feet; but, as she did so, she gave a shriek and took a step backwards. Standing with her back to the door was Edith Longworth. When she had entered the state-room, Miss Brewster did not know, but her heart beat wildly as she saw the girl standing silently there, as if she had risen up through the floor. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded. 'I am here,' said Miss Longworth, 'because I wish to talk with you.' 'Stand aside; I have no time to talk to you just now. I told you I didn't want to see you again. Stand aside, I tell you.' 'I shall not stand aside.' 'What do you mean?' 'I mean that I shall not stand aside.'