there came the subscription "Charles
Boyd;" and that was all. Why he cried out "Man overboard" (for now I
recognised that it was his voice which gave the alarm), I do not know,
except that he wished his body to be recovered, and to receive burial.

Just here, some one came fumbling at the curtain of my cabin. I heard a
gasp--"Doctor--my head! quick!"

I looked out. As I drew the curtain a worthless lascar sailor fell
fainting into my cabin. He had been drinking a good deal, and the horror
and excitement of the accident had brought on an apoplectic fit. This in
a very hot climate is suddenly fatal. In three minutes, in spite of me,
he was dead. Postponing report of the matter, I went on deck again among
the passengers.

I expected that Mrs. Falchion would be among them, for the news must
have gone to every part of the ship; but she was not there. On the
outskirts of one of the groups, however, I saw Justine Caron. I went
to her, and asked her if Mrs. Falchion had risen. She said that she had
not: that she had been told of the disaster, and had appeared shocked;
but had complained of a headache, and had not risen. I then asked
Justine if Mrs. Falchion had been told who the suicide was, and was
answered in the negative. At that moment a lady came to me and said in
an awed whisper: "Dr. Marmion, is it true that the man who committed
suicide was a second-class passenger, and that he appeared at the ball
last night, and danced with Mrs. Falchion?"

I knew that my reply would soon become common property, so I said:

"He was a first-class passenger, though until yesterday he travelled
second-class. I knew him. His name was Charles Boyd. I introduced him to
Mrs. Falchion last night, but he did not stay long on deck, because
he felt ill. He had heart trouble. You may guess that he was tired of
life." Then I told her of the paper which was for the public, and she
left me.

The search for the unfortunate men went on. No one could be seen near
the floating buoys which were here and there picked up by Hungerford's
boat. The long undulations of the water had been broken up in a large
area about the ship, but the sea was still comparatively smooth. We were
steaming back along the track we had come. There was less excitement
on board than might be expected. The tropical stillness of the air,
the quiet suddenness of the tragedy itself, the grim decisiveness of
Hungerford, the watchful silence of a few men like Colonel Ryder and
Cl