English sailor and some natives were swept off the ship by a sea. One
native was saved, but he is all smashed up. The others were never seen
again."

Iris by degrees learnt the sad chronicles of the Jackson family. She
was moved to tears. She remembered the doctor's hesitancy, and her own
idle phrase--"a huge coffin."

Outside the roaring waves pounded upon the iron walls.

Were they not satiated? This tragedy had taken all the grandeur out of
the storm. It was no longer a majestic phase of nature's power, but an
implacable demon, bellowing for a sacrifice. And that poor woman, with
her two children, hopefully scanning the shipping lists for news of the
great steamer, news which, to her, meant only the safety of her
husband. Oh, it was pitiful!

Iris would not be undressed. The maid sniveled a request to be allowed
to remain with her mistress. She would lie on a couch until morning.

Two staterooms had been converted into one to provide Miss Deane with
ample accommodation. There were no bunks, but a cozy bed was screwed to
the deck. She lay down, and strove to read. It was a difficult task.
Her eyes wandered from the printed page to mark the absurd antics of
her garments swinging on their hooks. At times the ship rolled so far
that she felt sure it must topple over. She was not afraid; but
subdued, rather astonished, placidly prepared for vague eventualities.
Through it all she wondered why she clung to the belief that in another
day or two the storm would be forgotten, and people playing quoits on
deck, dancing, singing coon songs in the music-room, or grumbling at
the heat.

Things were ridiculous. What need was there for all this external fury?
Why should poor sailors be cast forth to instant death in such awful
manner? If she could only sleep and forget--if kind oblivion would blot
out the storm for a few blissful hours! But how could one sleep with
the consciousness of that watery giant thundering his summons upon the
iron plates a few inches away?

Then came the blurred picture of Captain Ross high up on the bridge,
peering into the moving blackness. How strange that there should be
hidden in the convolutions of a man's brain an intelligence that laid
bare the pretences of that ravenous demon without. Each of the ship's
officers, the commander more than the others, understood the why and
the wherefore of this blustering combination of wind and sea. Iris knew
the language of poker. Nature was putting up a