Mrs Mannering had tied a shawl round her head. The pockets of her coat were filled to the point of bursting. She carried a bundle of small articles, which she proceeded to stuff into the pockets of Katrine's cloak. A steward came up and fastened a lifebelt round her waist. Bedford took a second from his arm and himself fastened it round Katrine. She laid her cold fingers on his, drawing him back. "You are going to send me away?" He bent and laid his lips to her hand, but he went on fastening the straps. There was a relentlessness in his movements which struck ice to Katrine's soul. "You will send me away, and let me die alone?" At that he winced, but still he continued his task. "You must go first, beloved. If God wills, I'll follow. The women must go first." Katrine laughed; a wild reckless laugh more terrible than tears. "Why? Why? Because of a sentiment, a convention? Better save the men! They are the bread-winners, the heads of households. Save the lives that count, and let us drown. There are women enough--too many. We should not be missed. I have had no choice in life, but my death is my own. I will not go! I will stay with you." Mrs Mannering's practical, commonplace voice struck sharply upon her ears. "My good girl," she cried. "You have not to think of yourself at this moment. You are not the only woman who would rather stay behind. Look at those poor souls over there who have to leave husbands and sons! Is it easier for them, or for you? There's only one thing to be done--obey orders, and do your bit towards smoothing the way. When your turn comes, you've _got_ to go, and I'll see to it that you _do_!" She squared her shoulders, and stationed herself grim and relentless by Katrine's side. In the lurid light her face looked lined, and incredibly old, but she carried herself bravely, and showed not a quiver of fear. Along the deck the band had marshalled, and the strains of a popular waltz floated with horrible gaiety on the air. Not a note fell flat, or out of time; stalwart and erect in their smart uniform, the men stood and played, and the conductor waved his baton as composedly as if they had been surrounded by a throng of merry dancers, instead of men and women threatened by instant death. Prom within the brightly-lighted smoking-room a man could be seen writing a letter. A few feet away a woman was playing bo-peep with a frightened child. Gradually, as Katrine stood waiting, her fear subsided, and there stole into her soul a mysterious courage and calm. Strung to its highest sensibilities the spirit within her absorbed the atmosphere by which it was surrounded, and nobly answered the call.