no, nor even audible. Had she left them to perish, or had she
herself foundered instantaneously? Surely this awful hubbub was audible
for miles. Surely if she were above water, her people could not leave
them thus to die. Still--of her no sign.

"Put back, Smithers," said Roden. "Miss Ridsdale is not in the boat."

A storm of murmurs arose.

"She is in some other boat, then. It's too late to put back."

"She is not. She's still on board the ship. Would you leave a woman to
drown? Put back."

The storm of discontent redoubled. Here were many women and children.
If the boat got back, she would certainly be drawn down in the vortex of
the sinking ship. It was better that one should perish than many.
Besides, how did anybody know that that one was still on board?

Well, one did know, but how he knew was another matter. For, as sure as
though he had heard her voice crying to his ears, did Roden Musgrave
then know that Mona was still on board the doomed hull, left to die
alone.

"Very well. Do as you like!" he answered; "I am going back." And
before any could prevent him, he had flung himself into the sea, and was
striking out, with long, easy, vigorous strokes, for the ill-fated
_Scythian_.

"We'll stand by for you," sang out old Smithers. "But be quick, sir."

Roden seized the rope-ladder by which the boat's load had been lowered,
and soon regained the now silent and deserted deck. But, as he did so,
a panic shout went up from those in the boat. The hull, now very low
down in the water, was seen to lurch, and to heave. The cry went up
that the ship was already sinking, and all hands, straining with a will
at the oars, thought of nothing for the next few minutes but to poll as
far as possible outside that dangerous and fatal vortex.

And, thus abandoned, Roden Musgrave stood upon the deck of the doomed
ship--alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

ALONE ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA.

There was something inexpressibly weird and spectral in the aspect of
the deserted saloon as Roden made his way through it. The few lamps
left burning for night purposes flared in the gloom, the rolled-up
carpeting, the round-backed table-chairs, the bottles and glasses in
swinging racks, each had a ghastly and eloquent expression of its own,
each seemed to show something of dumb protest against being left to its
fate by man, whom it had served so faithfully, to sink down and rot
among the far and slimy depths of the black n