when the terrible sea-sickness came to try her physical powers, all attempt at resistance seemed to abandon her, and she sunk under it. Maggie found her with a stone-cold body, and a pulse at its lowest ebb. The passengers were all alarmed about her, but she had steadily declined their proffered kindnesses, and, above all, she would not let Dr Lennard be informed of her condition. But when Maggie saw her, she asked no one’s leave, but went to find him at once. As she emerged from the cabin, with the tears running down her cheeks, she met Vernon Blythe. ‘Why! what’s the matter?’ he inquired, with a true sailor’s ready interest in every woman, high or low. ‘Oh, please, sir! can you tell me where to find the doctor? My poor, dear lady is _so_ ill.’ ‘_Your lady!_ Let me see. Are you not the person who came on board with Miss Douglas?’ ‘Yes, sir, and she is so bad with the sickness. She’s as cold as ice, and can hardly move a limb. And I’ve been sick myself till now, and ain’t half right yet, or I’d have fetched the doctor to her before. But he must come now, sir, as quick as he can, for the poor dear is just as bad as she can be.’ ‘I will fetch him for her at once!’ exclaimed Jack, who had not forgotten his strange interest in the mysterious second-class passenger. In another minute he had unearthed Dr Lennard from the smoking-room, where he was playing chess with the third officer, and carried him off to his patient. As they entered the cabin together, Maggie had disappeared to take up her watch beside Iris’s berth. ‘Which is Miss Douglas’s berth?’ inquired the doctor, addressing the assembled company. ‘Number twelve,’ replied Farrell eagerly. ‘This is it, doctor,’ said Jack, as he unlatched the door to let the medical officer pass in. Iris’s berth was a lower one, facing the entrance. As Jack opened the door, he saw her plainly, lying back upon her pillows, with closed eyes, and loosened hair; and as he saw her, he started violently, and muttered something very like an oath beneath his breath. ‘Hullo, Jack! what’s up?’ exclaimed Dr Lennard jestingly; ‘seen a ghost, eh?’ ‘Nothing, doctor, nothing,’ he answered, in a muffled voice; ‘that is the lady,’ and closing the cabin door hastily upon him, he leant against it for a moment, to recover himself. At first his heart called out that he _must_ be mistaken--that it was only a chance likeness he had seen lying on the pillows within that door. But his reason told him he was _not_, and that there could not be two faces in this world like the one that had been enshrined in his heart ever since he first beheld it. This then was the reason of his strange interest in Miss Douglas. His eyes had been too dull to recognise her, but his instincts had been stronger than his sight. Dr Lennard might well ask him if he had seen a ghost. How the good doctor would ‘chaff’ him if he told him he had indeed seen the ghost of his early love--the memory of his life, sweet Iris Hetherley.