I could do nothing but let her cry; yet, knowing there is no better medicine for such misery and fear as hers than action and the sight of it, I got up and went to the pantry for materials to trim and light the lamp. I found oil and bundles of wick, but no matches. I returned and asked the poor weeping young lady to tell me if she knew where I might find a box of matches; she went to a cabin which I supposed was hers, one on the port side, almost aft. I was struck by her walk: not once did she stumble or pause, wild as the play of the plank was. In a few minutes she rejoined me with a box of wax lights, and, unhooking the lamp, I filled and trimmed it and hung it up, and it swung burning brightly. Now I could see Miss Otway, and as much of her face as showed was remarkable for delicacy and refinement. She was very pale, her eyes light, whether blue or grey I could not then tell; her hair was of a soft, rather dark amber. She had perfectly even small white teeth, but her lips were pale and marked a want of red blood. She was of medium height, but of a shape not to be guessed at, heaped as her form was with clothes. What she wore was very rich and fine, and a little diamond sparkled in each ear. She seemed fragile, in delicate health, just the sort of girl to whom the doctors, despairing of their physic, would recommend the breezes of the world's oceans. Her eyes were red with weeping, and when I glanced at her after hanging up the lamp I found her staring at me with looks of anxiety and expectation piteous with passion. 'This,' said I, casting up my gaze at the lamp, 'makes the cabin cheerful. I hope there is plenty of oil aboard to keep us in light till we are taken off.' 'When will that be?' she cried. 'Why, perhaps to-day and perhaps tomorrow,' said I. 'My ship can't be far off; her captain is one of the humanest hearts afloat. He thinks three of you are aboard here, and he'll cruise for you. If he don't find us the reason will lie in the weather, not in his not hunting.' Then, looking towards the stove, I exclaimed, 'You'll have been ice cold down in this well. Let's build a fire, there's plenty of coal in the hull: the boatswain Wall said so.' 'Who were the dead?' she exclaimed. 'Two seamen and the steward. A fourth--the doctor--lies fearfully frostbitten. He stands to lose his feet and hands.' 'They wanted to take me with them,' she cried. 'Captain Burke would not let me go; Mrs. Burke was against it: had I gone I might now be safe in your ship.' 'Don't imagine that,' said I, deeply pitying as I looked at her. '_You_ capable of enduring two nights of exposure in the seas in that open boat! They proved sound friends who kept you here. _Here_ you're alive and you shall be saved--you shall be saved!' I exclaimed heartily.