"My friends," she spoke very quietly, "I cannot understand what this means. My brother's name was Sydney Benedict, and I remember when, as a boy, he had tattooed those initials on his left arm, as Dr. Atwater has described them. And he performed wonderfully on the violin, and dreamed only of being a great artist some day. He longed to go abroad and study, but my father would not hear of it. He wished his only son to enter his business and continue it after him. They were both high-tempered and had many terrible quarrels about it. I--my sister and I--sided with my father. At last my father threatened to disinherit Sydney if he did not accede to his wishes. And on the following morning--it was his twenty-first birthday--we found only a note pinned to his pillow, saying he had gone away forever. He had taken with him only his violin. "But," and here she hesitated, gazing around inquiringly on the company, "I cannot understand what follows. Two weeks later we received word from a steamer that had just arrived in Europe from New York, that a young man named Sydney Benedict had fallen or jumped overboard one night when they were two days out, and his loss was not discovered till next day. Only his violin remained in the cabin. He was certainly lost at sea. I cannot understand--" She suddenly pressed both hands to her head as if it pained her. "Wait a moment!" cried Dr. Atwater. "I believe I can explain that. I should have told it before, but I quite forgot; there was so much to tell. He did once confide to me (apropos of some little adventure we had had together on one of my trips, when I almost lost my life) that he too had once had the narrowest kind of escape from death. He said that on leaving America he had taken a steamer for Europe, hoping to find the means to study there. They hadn't passed Sandy Hook, however, before he became violently seasick, and lay in his berth like a log for twenty-four hours. On the second night it became so stiflingly hot in his cabin that he felt he must get to the deck for air or die. "So he struggled out and up the companionway, somehow, meeting no one, for it was very late. On the deck he crawled in behind a life-boat, and lay in a rather unprotected outer portion of the deck, so sick that he scarcely knew where he was or how dangerous was the spot he had chosen. All of a sudden the vessel gave an unusually heavy lurch, and before he could clutch for any hold he was catapulted into the sea. "Curiously enough, the sudden ducking dispelled his horrible sickness, and when he came to the surface he found himself striking out to swim. Useless to shout for help from the great steamer, which had already passed a boat's length beyond him. But he was a strong swimmer, the night was warm, and he resolved not to give up till he _had_ to.