ad other work to do.

Barraclough informed me that the Prince had been taken to the music
saloon, and Lane also was there. I therefore joined the relics of our
company in that devastated chamber, and did what my skill availed to do
for the injured. The Prince had been struck on the head and in the
body, but the marks were not very apparent. He breathed heavily, but
had still his old air of authority. Lane bubbled over with alternate
fumes of petulance and passion; but he had his excuse, as he was
suffering a great deal of pain. Ellison, too, wounded as he was, had
dragged himself from his temporary hospital to the music-room. But one
of Legrand's men had vanished, and it was supposed he had gone
overboard in one of the great tides of sea that swept over the yacht.
Legrand had ventured on deck, and clinging to the railings, had
endeavoured to get some notion of the position of things. But he had
seen and heard nothing beyond the storm.

"She's firm so far," he shouted in my ears, "and the night's clearing.
I can see a star."

"The Star of Hope," I answered.

He shrugged his shoulders. "They may be at the pumps. But the sea's
moderating and the wind's dropping. We shall know presently."

Something was now drawing me irresistibly back to the Princess. My
heart pined for the sight of her and the assurance that she had
suffered no injury. I grew restless at the inaction, and, weary and
bruised as I was, I think passion gave me wings and endurance. I left
the music saloon and emerged into the lobby where the stairs went down
to the saloon below. The sea was breaking through the shattered door on
the one side, but on the lee the _Sea Queen_ was tilted upwards, and it
was there she lay in irons, no doubt upon some rocks, or shores. If
only the day would dawn! As I stood awhile, before entering the
corridor through another shattered doorway, the glimmer of a light
caught my eye. It came from the door upon the farther side of the
lobby, seeming to shine through the keyhole. As I watched, the door
opened and let in a blast of wind that shook the broken woodwork; it
also let in the figure of a man, and that man, seen dimly in the shades
of the light he carried, was Holgate. I drew myself up into the
fastness of the gloom and stared at him. He had turned the shutter in
his lantern now, for it was a bull's-eye, and the darkness was once
more universal, but I had a feeling that he had a companion, and
although I necessarily lost