“Get better, get quite well, and I will forgive you _everything_.” She laughed, a queer little hollow laugh, and then said-- “How strange that you should be on board. Are you going to Egypt?” “No--to Sydney.” “Why? Have you friends there, or business?” “Both; urgent affairs, and I expect to meet friends. Your father says he is delighted that I am a fellow-passenger. He likes me.” “How--how extraordinary!” “Yes; you do not flatter me. But at least it is fortunate----Well, now, you will have to go down. It is getting rather chilly.” “Oh no, no; I like being here. And the cabin is stuffy, and Mrs. Leach is so--so--such a wretched sailor.” “Then, I am truly sorry for you. But you really must go. I’ll guarantee to take you below quite safely.” “No, no. Papa will----” “It’s as much as he can do to keep his legs, much less steer another. But, if you prefer it, I’ll call the stewardess.” “No; never mind”--rising and staggering, and putting a mere skeleton hand on his; and, as he supported her tremulous steps, he realized how fearfully weak she was. They got downstairs safely, and, as she paused, breathless, for a moment under the great electric light, they looked into one another’s faces for the first time since that June morning. It was all that Wynne could do to repress an exclamation of horror, as a white, hollow-cheeked spectre raised her sunken, hopeless-looking eyes to his. Even the doctor’s brother-in-law had not prepared him for _this_. “Stewardess,” he said, as soon as he could control his voice, “take great care of this lady. Make her eat. Get her some supper at once--some hot soup and a glass of Burgundy. You must have something to eat before you turn in.” “Oh no; I could not,” she protested feebly. “I don’t want anything.” “Oh yes you do; and you will be sure to come up early to-morrow. I’ll come and fetch you about eleven o’clock, weather permitting.” And he walked off, and went on deck to a distant part of the ship, and leant over the bulwarks alone.