ounds of emancipated beer-bottles livelier than their own corks,
and the clamour of the ship's gong broken loose and calling to meals on
its own account.

After dinner the real rolling began. She did roll "guards under," as the
Louisiana man had prophesied. At thirty-minute intervals to the second
arrived one big sea, when the electric lamps died down to nothing, and
the screw raved and the blows of the sea made the decks quiver. On those
occasions we moved from our chairs, not gently, but discourteously. At
other times we were merely holding on with both hands.

It was then that I studied Fear--Terror bound in black silk and fighting
hard with herself. For reasons which will be thoroughly understood,
there was a tendency among the passengers to herd together and to
address inquiries to every officer who happened to stagger through the
saloon. No one was in the least alarmed,--oh dear, no!--but all were
keenly anxious for information. This anxiety redoubled after a more than
usually vicious roll. Terror was a large, handsome, and cultured lady
who knew the precise value of human life, the inwardness of _Robert
Elsmere_, the latest poetry--everything in fact that a clever woman
should know. When the rolling was near its worst, she began to talk
swiftly. I do not for a moment believe that she knew what she was
talking about. The rolling increased. She buckled down to the task of
making conversation. By the heave of the labouring bust, the restless
working of the fingers on the tablecloth, and the uncontrollable eyes
that turned always to the companion stairhead, I was able to judge the
extremity of her fear. Yet her words were frivolous and commonplace
enough; they poured forth unceasingly, punctuated with little laughs and
giggles, as a woman's speech should be. Presently, a member of her group
suggested going to bed. No, she wanted to sit up; she wanted to go on
talking, and as long as she could get a soul to sit with her she had her
desire. When for sheer lack of company she was forced to get to her
cabin, she left reluctantly, looking back to the well-lighted saloon
over her shoulder. The contrast between the flowing triviality of her
speech and the strained intentness of eye and hand was a quaint thing to
behold. I know now how Fear should be painted.

No one slept very heavily that night. Both arms were needed to grip the
berth, while the trunks below wound the carpet-slips into knots and
battered the framing of t