“Nevertheless, I shall send for him,” said the physician slowly, and in a very few minutes he had sent the message. After he had left the building the warden received a communication. It was from the Chief of Police, giving some further information about the woman. “Hem! Looks as if she did have friends after all,” he growled crossly, then he, too, wrote a message and had it wired to the city. At ten o’clock the next morning two more deaths had been reported, and as sometimes happen, a blunder resulted. At eleven o’clock there were two pine coffins lying out on the very edge of the upper dock, both bearing tags and stenciled numbers. At that hour Marion Marlowe was standing with the Superintendent of Nurses, listening to some instructions of a private nature. “I would go myself if I had time,” the superintendent was saying, “for I would like to see Dr. Miller and tell him about it, but you can be spared and I can’t, Miss Marlowe, and I’ll consider it a favor if you will do my errand.” “I am only too glad to be of service to you, madam,” was Marion’s answer, “and I shall enjoy the sail up the river, too, as I have never been farther than Blackwell’s Island.” “Well, Dr. Miller is at the Homeopathic Hospital on Ward’s Island,” was the reply, “and you have only to tell him exactly what I have told you.” Marion Marlowe turned away with a respectful bow, then something occurred to her and she looked back anxiously. “Oh, by the way, will there be a boat this morning, madam?” The superintendent thought a moment—she had almost forgotten that. “You will have to go up on the ‘dead boat,’ the _Fidelity_,” she said, decidedly. “Tell the captain I sent you and it will be all right. That is due at half-past eleven. You don’t mind, do you, Miss Marlowe?” Marion did not even shiver at this ghastly suggestion. She was fast growing acclimated to these daily horrors. “I guess it won’t hurt me,” she said with a smile. “I can stay on deck, where I will not see the coffins.” When the _Fidelity_ stopped, Marion hurried aboard. She had seen the two pine boxes and wished to avoid them. “Bring on those silent passengers!” bawled the captain, jovially, and as the coffins were tossed aboard Marion gazed out over the water. “Who’ve we got this time?” asked one of the convict sailors after they had started. “We’ve all got to make this trip some day, boys, and I’m cur’us to know what kind of comp’ny we’ll be keepin’ up yender!” He made a motion of his head up the river as he spoke, and Marion sighed as she thought of these strong men looking forward to lying in the pauper graveyard. “Number 1,197 is Sarah Jenks,” read another convict, “and 1,198 is Mrs. Mary Ray, both _en route_ via the _Fidelity_ for the trenches up yonder!” As the convict stopped speaking he turned around quickly, for every man on the lower deck seemed to be staring at something.