But the baby’s emotions were crude, and probably in no wise connected with the tremors of ship-wreck, whereas Mrs. Somerville, during these full days, was constantly asking herself how it could be possible that she was living at all. “It will be a real manifestation of Providence if we ever reach England again,” she cried, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m sure John and I have said so many a time during the past week. To think of the ship’s blowing up in the way she did, it makes me all of a tremble, it does.” “Oh,” broke in Elsie, thinking that the information she possessed would help to calm the older woman, “we have made a good many discoveries since—since the boat went away without me, I mean. But do tell me, how did those horrid Chileans manage to cast off the tackle before Mr. Gray or some of the other men were able to stop them? Of course, it is matterless now, in a sense, but at that moment it looked like leaving those on the ship to certain death.” Mrs. Somerville was stricken dumb. The American’s shooting of two men on White Horse Island had naturally called for a complete explanation on his part, and she did not know how to answer Elsie’s question. Before she could gather her wits, Isobel intervened. “If you had been in that boat, dear,” she said sweetly, “you would realize the topsy-turvy condition of our brains. Even Mr. Gray himself, the coolest man on board, imagined we might sink any moment. So what can you expect of those excitable Chileans? Besides, the thing was done so quickly that we were swept away by the tide before any one fully understood what was happening. Anyhow, you had the best of it, as events transpired. What are the discoveries you spoke of?” “Well, some one placed dynamite among the coal.” “But who would do such a thing?” “That is hard to say. The captain believes that the culprit will be found out through the insurance policies. He and the others were discussing the affair one day in the chart-house—soon after the dynamite cartridges were discovered—and you cannot tell how surprised I was to hear him mention Ventana’s name in connection with it.” “Ventana’s name!” The blood ebbed away from Isobel’s cheeks, leaving her pallid as a statue. There was a gasp in her voice which startled her own ears. Lest her agitation should be noted too keenly, she bent forward and propped her face on her clenched hands, staring fixedly at the distant cliffs in a supreme effort to appear apathetic. Elsie heard that dry sob, but her friend’s seeming indifference misled her.