Two spinsters, companions and sisters, lay upon cushions flat upon the floor, and, also wrapped in their rugs, looked not unlike two huge bags of wool rolling from side to side with every motion of the boat. Another man had crept into a corner, where he tried to keep himself from pitching about by clinging to a rope which he had fastened to an immovable table. The only other occupant of the place was a little fair-haired maiden of perhaps fifteen or sixteen years. She was small and delicate, and was sitting, or trying to sit, upon the floor, not far from the old gentleman before mentioned. She was wrapped in a thick woolen shawl, and her head was covered with a crimson hood, so that not much could be seen of her, save the fair, pale face, with its sad, appealing blue eyes, which looked out from beneath masses of shining golden ringlets that had strayed from her hood and lay upon her white forehead. She had a sensitive mouth, a pretty, rounded chin, a small, straight nose, and altogether, had she possessed something of color and less of sadness in her face, would have been considered wondrously fair to look upon. This little waif, with her child-like countenance, her pathetic eyes, and her patient, uncomplaining spirit, was traveling alone. There was not a soul on board that vessel whom she had ever seen before the day of sailing. An orphan—her father, and the only relative on whom she could depend, had died just three months previous—she was going to the United States, to some distant connections who had consented to take her until she was of age and teach her to earn her own living. She had been put in the care of the captain by the people with whom she had been staying since her father’s death, and he was to deliver her to the strangers to whom she was going. Some strange magnetism had attracted her toward the old gentleman with the white hair and beard of whom we have spoken, and near to whom she was now sitting. She had hovered about him ever since the first day of the voyage, not in an obtrusive way, but as if she liked to be near him—as if there were something trustworthy and protective about him. Perhaps one reason for this was that her seat had been next his at table—while they had been able to sit at the table—and once or twice, when she could not attract the attention of the steward, he had handed her what she wanted, and helped her bountifully to fruit when otherwise she would have been neglected. When the storm came on with such violence that those not confined to their berths were obliged to take to the floor of the saloon for safety, she had crept as near to him as she dared, and though she had sat there all day long, he had never spoken to her once, or appeared to heed her presence, but remained, instead, wrapped in his own thoughts.