When the hubbub was at its height, there came, from behind the rest, a hearty, bustling sort of a voice. “Arrah! arrah! boys,” it pleaded. “Don’t you see you’re crowding the young lady? Make room for old Mother Joyce. How are you, me darlint? It’s terrible glad I am to see you; gladder than you are to see any of us, I’ll venture. There! deary! don’t cry. It’s all right.” The old woman’s voice dropped to a soothing note. For Dorothy, all the experiences of the past two weeks coming on her afresh at sight of a woman’s face, had broken down completely, and was sobbing on Mother Joyce’s ample bosom. “Oh!” she wailed, “I didn’t know how awful it has been until I saw you. All these dead ships----” Her voice died away. “I know! I know! It was fifteen years agone that I--but I remimber. There, mavourneen, be aisy. Come along down to Mother Joyce’s cabin and have your cry out.” She took Dorothy down a hatchway some distance from the babbling throng, into a cool and airy cabin. “Sit down wid yees,” she commanded. “Sit down with Mother Joyce and wape it all out. I understand, dear heart; I understand.” Dorothy’s curiosity soon mastered her tears, and before long the two women were exchanging confidences like old friends. Belonging to two different social worlds, elsewhere they would never have known each other. But adventure makes strange companions. After a while Joe tapped at the door. “Cap’n Forbes says, Mother Joyce,” he explained, “as how he hopes you an’ the young lady will take supper with him.” Mother Joyce looked at Dorothy, who responded promptly. “I’ll be glad to do so, of course,” she answered. “All right, Joe. We’ll come.” Then, as the sailor’s footsteps died away, the old lady turned to Dorothy. “My dear,” she essayed diffidently. “It’s cautioning you a bit I must be. It’s a bad state of things for a pretty young woman like yourself we’re after having here, so it is. Will you be goin’ to marry that young man who saved your life and who’s been so kind to you ever since the wreck?” Dorothy sat up very straight, and her cheeks flamed. “Indeed, I am not,” she exclaimed. Mother Joyce looked more troubled than ever. “It’s not for idle curiosity I’m asking,” she continued, “but because---- Are you quite certain you don’t want to marry him? It’s good and true he looks and--maybe it’s not another chance you’ll be getting.” Dorothy’s cheeks still burned, but uneasiness tugged at her heart-strings. Clearly there was something behind the old woman’s words--something of grave import, too. Joe and Bill had also hinted something she did not quite understand. “Marriage between me and Mr. Howard is entirely out of the question,” she replied quietly. “There are reasons that I can’t go into now. But I wish you would tell me exactly what the trouble is, dear Mother Joyce; for I am sure there is something dreadfully wrong.” Mother Joyce studied the girl for a moment.