to learn
the truth, which indeed it was impossible to conceal any longer. Mr.
Thompson came to her cabin and told her everything, while she listened
silently, horrified, amazed.

"Miss Clifford," he said, "I think it was one of the bravest things that
a man ever did. On the ship I always thought him rather a head-in-air
kind of swell, but he was a splendid fellow, and I pray God that he has
lived, as the lady and child for whom he offered himself up have done,
for they are both well again."

"Yes," she repeated after him mechanically, "splendid fellow indeed,
and," she added, with a strange flash of conviction, "I believe that he
_is_ still alive. If he were dead I should know it."

"I am glad to hear you say so," said Mr. Thompson, who believed the
exact contrary.

"Listen," she went on. "I will tell you something. When that dreadful
accident occurred Mr. Seymour had just asked me to marry him, and I was
going to answer that I would--because I love him. I believe that I shall
still give him that answer."

Mr. Thompson replied again that he hoped so, which, being as honest and
tender-hearted as he was brave and capable, he did most earnestly; but
in his heart he reflected that her answer would not be given this side
of the grave. Then, as he had been deputed to do, he handed her the note
which had been found in the bosom of her dress, and, able to bear no
more of this painful scene, hurried from the cabin. She read it greedily
twice, and pressed it to her lips, murmuring:

"Yes, I will think kindly of you, Robert Seymour, kindly as woman can of
man, and now or afterwards you shall have your answer, if you still wish
for it. Whenever you come or wherever I go, it shall be ready for you."

That afternoon, when she was more composed, Mrs. Jeffreys came to see
Benita, bringing her baby with her. The poor woman was still pale and
shaken, but the child had taken no hurt at all from its immersion in
that warm water.

"What can you think of me?" she said, falling on her knees by Benita.
"But oh! I did not know what I was doing. It was terror and my child,"
and she kissed the sleeping infant passionately. "Also I did not
understand at the time--I was too dazed. And--that hero--he gave his
life for me when the others wished to beat me off with oars. Yes, his
blood is upon my hands--he who died that I and my child might live."

Benita looked at her and answered, very gently:

"Perhaps he did not die after all. Do not