I remained seated, lost in such recent and slender thought as my mind could find to deal with. The ship was moving through the water. I could tell that by the tremble and hurry of light on the thick glass of the closed port. The movement was regular, buoyant, and wonderfully easy after the convulsive motions of the little brig. There was a clatter of crockery and subdued noise of talk outside in the somewhat darksome corridor, as I may call it, where some people--those no doubt who lodged in this part of the ship--were at breakfast. A baby was faintly crying in an adjacent cabin, but the compartments were stoutly divided, and every note reached the ear dimly. I sat thinking, and I thought of the terrible night I had passed, and of my abandonment by the young Frenchman and his companions, and also of the kind treatment I had met with on board the little French brig, and I thought of the days I had spent in her, and how the young Frenchman had said they had found me lying insensible, wounded, and bleeding in a boat with two masts; and, one thought leading to another, I suddenly arose and stepped to the looking-glass and gazed into it, and whilst I was staring at myself the door opened and the stewardess entered. ‘I have just left the captain,’ said she, ‘and he will be glad to see you in his cabin if you are equal to the visit.’ ‘There are people about,’ I answered; ‘my face is--this plaister----’ I put my hand to my brow, at a loss to express myself. I was ashamed to be seen, yet I was not able to say so. ‘You look nicely--oh, you look nicely!’ exclaimed the stewardess cordially. ‘Consider what you have gone through. How many would look so well after being wounded as you have, and then locked up in a cabin all night in a sinking ship? But you will not be seen. There is a staircase at the end of this steerage, and it opens close against the cabin door. Come, dear lady!’ She was about to lead the way out when she stopped and said, ‘What name shall I give when I show you in?’ ‘I do not know,’ I answered. She stared and looked frightened. ‘I have lost my memory,’ I said, and as I pronounced the words, I clasped my hands and bowed my head and sobbed. ‘Ah, poor lady! God keep your heart! You have passed through a great deal surely,’ said the kindly creature instantly, with a woman’s sympathetic perception, witnessing the truth of my assurance and understanding my condition, and, tenderly taking my arm in her hand, she conducted me out of the berth. She led me to a narrow staircase at the end of the corridor. I heard the voice of people at breakfast at the tables behind me, but I held my head bowed and saw nothing. We mounted the staircase and emerged at the aftermost end of the brilliant saloon, that was filled with the hum and busy with the clinking and clattering noises of passengers talking and lingering at the breakfast table. The stewardess knocked on the cabin door, and without waiting for a reply opened it, and we entered.