Her thoughts flew swiftly over the familiar forms. A jovial head of a family, seated at her own table in the saloon; a young husband assiduously waiting upon a pretty new wife; the handsome pursuer of steamship flirtations,--one after another their figures rose before her. These were all young, thoughtless, daring; a moment's recklessness might have precipitated them to their fate. An hour ago, five minutes ago, they had been nothing to her, less than nothing, now the mere tie of humanity rent her heart at the thought of their peril. She lifted her eyes to the face above her, panting breathless enquiries. "Tell me! Tell me!" "My--my dear girl," stammered the man huskily, "My poor girl--" He passed his arm more firmly round her waist, "Yes! you know him, I did not mean to tell you yet, but I am afraid you'll have to know! It's Vernon Keith--" "No! No!" Katrine fought with outstretched hands, striving to push him away. She no longer needed to lean; the shock had strung her into vitality, and a passionate denial of the tragic reversals of life. An hour ago she had beckoned to Keith as he passed by, and had fed him with chocolates. He had eaten, smiled, and grimaced, and she had rated him for his ingratitude. It was impossible that a man could eat chocolates, and take part in the trivial chit-chat of shipboard, and within sixty minutes be fighting for his life in those churning waves! "_It's impossible_!" she cried. "I was talking to him here, an hour ago. He was well--as well as usual... we talked--he _smiled_! It is _impossible_ that he can be dead!" "They may find him yet. It's only a few minutes. Everything is possible. You can do no good by waiting, dear. Come and sit down!" But Katrine thrust out her arm, pushing him away once more, shaking her head. How could she sit down? How think of herself? She leaned her elbows on the rail, and buried her head in her hands. Her brain was racing, she was shuddering with suspense, yet through all her misery her perceptions had grasped one word, and photographed it in lasting remembrance. "Dear!" Bedford had called her "Dear!" For a minute there was silence. Then she spoke a few words in so low and trembling a voice that he had to bend to catch them. "How? How did he--" He caught his breath: she heard the sound, and divined that for this man the worst sting of the tidings lay in the necessity for telling it to her. "He ... jumped! There were people about. They saw it. He was walking about, began to cough, leaned over the rail... Before they grasped what he was about--" He stopped short, and Katrine answered with unexpected composure: