A girl lay there in a crumpled heap. In her rich golden brown hair alone was any touch of color. Her eyes were closed and her lips blue. Her cheeks were so bloodless that it seemed impossible that she still lived. Once she might have been pretty--even beautiful--but the sea had robbed her of all charm, leaving only the pitifulness of youth and womanhood. Howard drew a long breath as he looked at her, and a sudden rage rose within him. She should not die! He had torn her from the sea. She should not die! Fragmentary ideas as to the proper thing to do came back to him. He bent down, chafing her wrists and temples; and then, raising her head, touched Jackson’s bottle to her lips. A long, shuddering sigh shook the girl’s body, and Howard saw a pair of brown eyes open and stare up at him; then close wearily. Again he raised her head. “Drink,” he commanded, as he poured the spirit between her parted lips. As the strangling liquor went down, the eyes flashed open again, and the girl shook from head to foot with a coughing--so violent and so prolonged that Howard feared that he had overdone his task. But it soon passed, leaving her conscious. For a moment she lay still, vaguely puzzling over her situation. Then recollection returned with a jerk, and she sat up. “I remember,” she gasped. “Oh, that dreadful wave! To see it come down, down, down---- Where am I?” “You’re back on the Queen. It’s all right. Try to keep cool. You’ll be better in a moment.” The wonder grew in the girl’s eyes. “The Queen!” she murmured. “The--Queen! How did I get back?” “The waves washed you back and we managed to pull you on board. You had better rest a while. You have been unconscious a long time.” The girl looked from one to the other. “Thank you! Thank you both,” she murmured. “I can’t find words now, but--the others! Were any of them----?” Her lips moved, but no sound followed. Howard bowed his head, but he answered unflinchingly--better the clean, sharp cut of certainty than dragging suspense. “You were the only one in your boat who was saved,” he answered quietly. “I know nothing of the other boats.” The girl covered her face with her hands. “Oh, poor people!” she moaned. “Poor, poor people!” Then she dashed the tears from her eyes and dragged herself to her feet, holding fast to the back of the sofa. “I am Miss Dorothy Fairfax,” she said, with a pretty access of dignity. “And you?” Her eye traveled from one man to the other. If Howard hesitated, it was for so short a time that it passed unobserved. “This is Detective Jackson, of the New York police,” he answered steadily, “and I am Frank Howard, his prisoner.” “Frank Howard! Not--not----” “Yes.” “My God!” For the first time in her life, Dorothy Fairfax fainted dead away. V AS Dorothy fell Howard caught her in his arms and laid her upon the sofa. Then he faced Jackson.