A Dutch gentleman (I will call him Pollak) who sat next him inquired with civil curiosity what we were talking about. On which I put down my knife and fork and plainly related the story of the voyage of Marie Otway for her health, the dismasting of the ship, her abandonment by the sailors, the reason of my visiting the Cape, and I told him how I knew by the photographs that the body which had been brought to Cape Town was not Marie's; but I said nothing about the opening of her grave; I judged that Mr. Hoskins would not be pleased to find a gaping crowd in the cemetery at such a time. They listened to me with deep attention. All saving the colonel had heard of the arrival of the schooner with the body; indeed--which was extraordinary--the Dutch gentleman was one of a few who had been present when the remains were taken out of the cask. I had passed several hours a day since my arrival in this man's company, and now learnt for the first time that he had seen the body. It was no season, however, for questioning him, and the conversation of the table went to the wreck seen by the captain of the whaler. All could have observed in my manner that I was deeply stirred; I could scarcely eat; I felt thirst only. The colonel talked fluently, but not serviceably; but I listened with kindness, for I was grateful to him for the accident of this astonishing discovery. After dinner I went on to the stoep to breathe the fresh air and smoke and think; I hoped that the others, remarking the state of my mind, would leave me alone; they did so; the colonel, the Dutch gentleman, and two others, who arrived after dinner, drinking coffee at a table at the other end of the verandah. Their conversation flowed in a low hum, but that it concerned the topic we talked over at dinner I knew by the occasional looks one or another directed my way. At last the Dutch gentleman, Mr. Pollak, came from his party and, pulling a chair to my side, seated himself. He said, speaking with an excellent English accent: 'I have thought as I saw the body you would wish me to describe it. It was not to be spoken of at table.' 'The photographs were ghastly pictures,' said I. 'Ach, Gott!' he cried, with such a roll of his eyes under the lids as made them balls of porcelain. 'But how should anyone--the handsomest--appear who was five weeks in spirits after having been drowned and lifted out of the sea? And still her hair was long and fair, and fine, and there was a shadow of beauty in the mask of her face--all saw it. It breathed like a perfume from a dead flower.' 'She was not Miss Otway,' said I. He described every feature, and I continued to shake my head. 'No, no,' said I, 'she is not Miss Otway. The girl I want is in that ship on the ice; yet--is she there?' 'Well, it must be found out,' said he. 'I shall go about it to-morrow.'