A strange look came upon his face at this. I could not construe it; and, after a few words of explanation regarding his transference to the forward part of the ship, I left him. I found the purser, made the necessary arrangements for him, and then sought my cabin, humbled in many ways. I went troubled to bed. After a long wakefulness, I dozed away into that disturbed vestibule of sleep where the world’s happenings mingle with the visions of unconsciousness. I seemed to see a man’s heart beating in his bosom in growing agonies, until, with one last immense palpitation, it burst, and life was gone. Then the dream changed, and I saw a man in the sea, drowning, who seemed never to drown entirely, his hands ever beating the air and the mocking water. I thought that I tried many times to throw him a lighted buoy in the half-shadow, but some one held me back, and I knew that a woman’s arms were round me. But at last the drowning man looked up and saw the woman so, and, with a last quiver of the arms, he sank from sight. When he was gone, the woman’s arms dropped away from me; but when I turned to speak to her, she, too, had gone. I awoke. Two stewards were talking in the passage, and one was saying, “She’ll get under way by daybreak, and it will be a race with the ‘Porcupine’ to Aden. How the engines are kicking below!” CHAPTER VI. MUMMERS ALL The next day was beautiful, if not enjoyable. Stirring preparations were being made for the ball. Boyd Madras was transferred to a cabin far forward, but he did not appear at any meal in the saloon, or on deck. In the morning I was busy in the dispensary. While I was there, Justine Caron came to get some medicine that I had before given her. Her hand was now nearly well. Justine had nerves, and it appeared to me that her efforts to please her mistress, and her occasional failures, were wearing her unduly. I said to her: “You have been worried, Miss Caron?” “Oh, no, Doctor,” she quickly replied. I looked at her a little sceptically, and she said at last: “Well, perhaps a little. You see, madame did not sleep well last night, and I read to her. It was a little difficult, and there was not much choice of books.” “What did you read?” I asked mechanically, as I prepared her medicine. “Oh, some French novel first--De Maupassant’s; but madame said he was impertinent--that he made women fools and men devils. Then I tried some modern English tales, but she said they were silly. I knew not what to do. But there was Shakespeare. I read Antony and Cleopatra, and she said that the play was grand, but the people were foolish except when they died--their deaths were magnificent. Madame is a great critic; she is very clever.” “Yes, yes, I know that; but when did she fall asleep?” “About four o’clock in the morning. I was glad, because she is very beautiful when she has much sleep.” “And you--does not sleep concern you in this matter of madame?”