The men were scattered around in attitudes of dejection, one or two of them leaning over the rail, watching the jolly-boat, riding easily behind us. Jones heard me moving, and turned. “Your friend below must be pretty bad, sir,” he said. “Your lady-love has been asking for you. I wouldn’t let them wake you.” “My—what?” He waxed apologetic at once. “That’s just my foolishness, Leslie,” he said. “No disrespect to the lady, I’m sure. If it ain’t so, it ain’t, and no harm done. If it is so, why, you needn’t be ashamed, boy. ‘The way of a man with a maid,’ says the Book.” “You should have called me, Jones,” I said sharply. “And no nonsense of that sort with the men.” He looked hurt, but made no reply beyond touching his cap. And, while I am mentioning that, I may speak of the changed attitude of the men toward me from the time they put me in charge. Whether the deference was to the office rather than the man, or whether in placing me in authority they had merely expressed a general feeling that I was with them rather than of them, I do not know. I am inclined to think the former. The result, in any case, was the same. They deferred to me whenever possible, brought large and small issues alike to me, served me my food alone, against my protestations, and, while navigating the ship on their own responsibility, took care to come to me for authority for everything. Before I went below that morning, I suggested that some of the spare canvas be used to erect a shelter on the after deck, and this was done. The rain by that time was driving steadily—a summer rain without wind. The men seemed glad to have occupation, and, from that time on, the tent which they erected over the hatchway aft of the wheel was their living and eating quarters. It added something to their comfort: I was not so certain that it added to their security. Turner was violent that day. I found all four women awake and dressed, and Mrs. Turner, whose hour it was on duty, in a chair outside the door. The stewardess, her arm in a sling, was making tea over a spirit-lamp, and Elsa was helping her. Mrs. Johns was stretched on a divan, and on the table lay a small revolver. Clearly, Elsa had told the incident of the key. I felt at once the atmosphere of antagonism. Mrs. Johns watched me coolly from under lowered eyelids. The stewardess openly scowled. And Mrs. Turner rose hastily, and glanced at Mrs. Johns, as if in doubt. Elsa had her back to me, and was busy with the cups. “I’m afraid you’ve had a bad night,” I said. “A very bad night,” Mrs. Turner replied stiffly. “Delirium?” “Very marked. He has talked of a white figure—we cannot quite make it out. It seems to be Wilmer—Mr. Vail.” She had not opened the door, but stood, nervously twisting her fingers, before it. “The bromides had no effect?” She glanced helplessly at the others. “None,” she said, after a moment. Elsa Lee wheeled suddenly and glanced scornfully at her sister.