, not infrequently accompanied him. She was
glad of his society, for Mrs. Hastings was seldom in evidence, and no
efforts could get Miss Rawlinson out of her berth. The gale blew itself
out at length, and the evening after it moderated Agatha was sitting
near the head of one fiddle-guarded table in the saloon waiting for
dinner, which the stewards had still some difficulty in bringing in.
Wyllard's place was next to hers, but he had not appeared, nor had the
skipper, who, however, did not invariably dine with the passengers. One
of the two doors which led from the foot of the branching companion
stairway into either side of the saloon stood open, and presently she
saw Wyllard standing just outside it.

He beckoned to the doctor, who sat at the foot of her table, and the
physician merely raised his brows a trifle. He was a rather consequential
person, and it was evident to the girl that he resented being summoned by
a gesture. She did not think anybody else had noticed Wyllard, and she
waited with some curiosity to see what he would do. He made a sign with a
lifted hand, and she felt that the doctor would obey it, as, in fact, he
did, though his manner was very far from conciliatory. By dint of
listening closely, she could hear their conversation.

"I'm sorry to trouble you just now," apologized Wyllard, "and I didn't
come in because that would have set everybody wondering what you were
wanted for; but one of those boys forward has been thrown down the
ladder, and has cut his head."

"Ah!" said the doctor. "I'll see to him--after dinner."

"It's a nasty cut," declared Wyllard. "He's losing a good deal of
blood."

"Then I would suggest that you apply to my assistant."

"As I don't know where he is, I have come to you."

The doctor made a sign of impatience. "Well," he said "you have told me,
which I think is as far as your concern in the matter goes. I may add
that I'm not accustomed to dictation on behalf of a steerage passenger."

Agatha saw Wyllard slip between the doctor and the entrance to the
saloon, but she saw also the skipper appear a few paces behind them, and
glance at them sharply. He was usually a silent man, at home in the ice
and the clammy fog, but not a great acquisition in the saloon.

"Something wrong down forward, Mr. Wyllard? They were making a great row
a little while ago," the skipper said.

"Nothing very serious," Wyllard answered. "One of the boys has cut his
head."

The skipper turne