“No time for explanations,” he said, while she tremblingly clutched at a rail which gave support down the companion-way. “Dr. Christobal is below. But—I fear you will find a shocking scene. Perhaps you had better let me take you back.” “No, no, not on my account. I think I am past feeling any sentiment. I would far rather do something, be of some use, however slight.” A pungent smell of iodoform came to them up the hatchway. Joey, who had followed bravely in their wake, and was now a few steps down the stairs, crept back, awed. “At least, let me ask Dr. Christobal if you may come. You will be quite safe here if you grip the rail. Even if a sea breaks over the hatch it cannot touch you. May I leave you? And do you mind holding Joey?” Elsie detected a return to his earlier manner, and she was grateful to him for it. She did not like him so well when he was stern and curt. “Yes,” she said. “That is only reasonable; but please tell him I shall not be in the way, I know that there are wounded men to be attended, and dead men down there, too. I shall not scream or faint, believe me.” “I am sure of that. Not one woman in a thousand could have played and sung to cheer others, as you did after the accident happened.” It might have been the reaction from her exciting passage along the deck, but Elsie experienced a sudden warm glow in her face. Somehow, it was delightful to hear those words from such a man in the hour of his supremest trial. For she realized what it meant to him, even though his life were saved, if the _Kansas_ became a wreck. She stooped, ostensibly to grasp the dog’s collar. “Before you leave me,” she said, “let me tell you how sorry I am for you.” He ran down the stairs, and entered the small saloon, which had been hastily converted into a hospital. Perhaps it would be better described as a mortuary, for it held more dead than living. Christobal, aided by two sailors, was wrapping lint round a fireman’s seared arm. Happily, there was an abundance of cotton sheets available, and the men tore them into strips. But the comparatively small supply of cotton wool carried in the ship’s stores, and in the doctor’s private medicine chest had long since given out. “Miss Maxwell is here. She asked me to bring her to you in case she might be able to render you some assistance,” explained Courtenay. Christobal drew himself upright, with the slowness of an elderly man whose joints are stiffening. “Miss Maxwell here?” he repeated, obviously surprised, if not displeased. He waved a hand towards the men laid on mattresses on the deck. Most were quite motionless; others writhed in agony. “She cannot come—it is impossible.” “It is her wish.” “Quite impossible. Where is she?” “Standing in the companion.”