When the steamer stopped that time, it was because she struck on
the submerged shelf of an iceberg. In three hours--or less--she
will go down, and all who happen to be on board will go with her.
They should be able to stow a thousand women and children in the
boats, and these should be picked up soon after daylight, if the
sea stays smooth and the weather clear. To-night's indications were
clear weather and a calm sea for at least another day, so that will
be all right.

You will be in one of the boats, and--safe. It would be like you
not to want to go. If I hear that you do not, then some one will
see that you do go. But I shall not be by you when you leave the
ship, for I do not want you to read in my face that I know I am not
to see you again--nor to bother you in any way. I shall be looking
on as you leave, and what you said to-night will not then matter.
As you go over the side my prayer will go with you.

There came a sharp knock on the door.

"Come!" he called. It was his own steward, who thrust his head past the
door's edge. "Saloon passengers are to go on deck, Mr. Cadogan."

"Why?"

"I 'ave no idea, sir. Orders, sir. I was to hinform the saloon passengers
as how they were to go on deck, and women and children into boats."

"All right. Thank you. And, Hames."

"Yes, sir?"

"You hunt up Miss Huttle's maid, and have her tell Miss Huttle to be
sure to wrap up warm. Be sure she gets that right--to wrap up warm. Two
sets of everything all round. Got that right?"

"Two sets--yes, sir."

"That's all, Hames."

"'K you, sir."

He resumed writing:

And so it has come to write the adieu which I would dread to have
to speak. Four days only have I known you, but a man may build his
life anew in four days, and this last adventure of mine has been
such as in my visionary boyhood days I used to mark out for myself
in rosy dreams.

I have the little snapshot you gave me yesterday. I will have it
with me to the end, and your face in it will be the last thing I
kiss this side of eternity. And so good-by, dear heart, and don't
worry for me. Who lives by the sword, et cetera. It had to come to
some such ending, I suppose, though rather a joke, isn't it, to be
lost on an ocean liner crossing the Atlantic in these days?

To-day with you I saw the sun go down 'twixt purple bars,