his is the result of design rather than of
accident. Let us below."

Elizabeth rose up and readjusted her ruff, which in the excitement of the
moment had been forced to assume a position about her forehead which gave
one the impression that its royal wearer had suddenly donned a sombrero.

"Very well," she said. "Let us below; but oh, for the axe!"

"Bring the lady an axe," cried Xanthippe, sarcastically. "She wants to cut
somebody."

The sally was not greeted with applause. The situation was regarded as
being too serious to admit of humor, and in silence they filed back into
the billiard-room, and, arranging themselves in groups, stood about
anxiously discussing the situation.

"It's getting rougher every minute," sobbed Ophelia. "Look at those
pool-balls!" These were in very truth chasing each other about the table
in an extraordinary fashion. "And I wish I'd never followed you horrid new
creatures on board!" the poor girl added, in an agony of despair.

"I believe we've crossed the bar already!" said Cleopatra, gazing out of
the window at a nasty choppy sea that was adding somewhat to the
disquietude of the fair gathering. "If this is merely a joke on the part
of the Associated Shades, it is a mighty poor one, and I think it is time
it should cease."

"Oh, for an axe!" moaned Elizabeth, again.

"Excuse me, your Majesty," put in Xanthippe. "You said that before, and I
must say it is getting tiresome. You couldn't do anything with an axe.
Suppose you had one. What earthly good would it do you, who were
accustomed to doing all your killing by proxy? I don't believe, if you had
the unmannerly person who slammed the door in your face lying prostrate
upon the billiard-table here, you could hit him a square blow in the neck
if you had a hundred axes. Delilah might as well cry for her scissors, for
all the good it would do us in our predicament. If Cleopatra had her asp
with her it might be more to the purpose. One deadly little snake like
that let loose on the upper deck would doubtless drive these boors into
the sea, and even then our condition would not be bettered, for there
isn't any of us that can sail a boat. There isn't an old salt among us."

"Too bad Mrs. Lot isn't along," giggled Marguerite de Valois, whose Gallic
spirits were by no means overshadowed by the unhappy predicament in which
she found herself.

"I'm here," piped up Mrs. Lot. "But I'm not that kind of a salt."

"I am present," said Mrs. Noah