so, and would have fallen, but I
caught him as he lost consciousness, and laid him on the cabin sofa.
I chafed his hands, unloosed his collar, and opened the bosom of his
shirt. As the linen dropped away from his throat, a small portrait on
ivory was exposed on his breast. I did not look closely at it then, but
it struck me that the woman's head in the portrait was familiar, though
the artistic work was not recent, and the fashion of the hair was
of years before. When his eyes opened, and he felt his neck bare, he
hurriedly put up his hand and drew the collar close, and at the same
time sent a startled and inquiring look at me. After a few moments I
helped him to his feet, and, thanking me more with a look than with
words, he turned towards the door again.

"Wait," I said, "until I give you some medicine, and then you shall
take my arm to your cabin." With a motion of the hand, signifying the
uselessness of remedies, he sat down again. As I handed him the phial,
I continued: "I know that it is none of my business, but you are
suffering. To help your body, your mind should be helped also. Can't you
tell me your trouble? Perhaps I should be able to serve you. I would if
I could."

It may be that I spoke with a little feeling and an apparent honesty;
for his eyes searched mine in a kind of earnest bewilderment, as if this
could not be true--as if, indeed, life had gone so hard with him that
he had forgotten the way of kindness. Then he stretched out his hand and
said brokenly: "I am grateful, believe me. I cannot tell you just now,
but I will soon, perhaps." His hand was upon the curtain of the door,
when my steward's voice was heard outside, calling my name. The man
himself entered immediately, and said that Mrs. Falchion sent her
compliments, and would I come at once to see her companion, Miss Caron,
who had injured herself.

The Intermediate Passenger turned towards me a strange look; his lips
opened as if about to speak, but he said nothing. At the instant there
came to my mind whom the picture on his breast resembled: it was Mrs.
Falchion.

I think he saw this new intelligence in my face, and a meaning smile
took the place of words, as he slowly left the cabin, mutely refusing
assistance.

I went to Mrs. Falchion's cabin, and met her outside the door. She
looked displeased. "Justine has hurt herself," she said. "Please attend
to her; I am going on deck."

The unfeeling nature of this remark held me to the spo