of the man Rowland--an irresponsible drunkard."

"The man was lifted aboard drunk at New York," broke in the first
officer, "and remained in a condition of delirium tremens up to the
shipwreck. We did not meet the _Royal Age_ and are in no way responsible
for her loss."

"Yes," added Captain Bryce, "and a man in that condition is liable to
see anything. We listened to his ravings on the night of the wreck. He
was on lookout--on the bridge. Mr. Austen, the boats'n, and myself were
close to him."

Before Mr. Meyer's oily smile had indicated to the flustered captain
that he had said too much, the door opened and admitted Rowland, pale,
and weak, with empty left sleeve, leaning on the arm of a bronze-bearded
and manly-looking giant who carried little Myra on the other shoulder,
and who said, in the breezy tone of the quarter-deck:

"Well, I've brought him, half dead; but why couldn't you give me time to
dock my ship? A mate can't do everything."

"And this is Captain Barry, of der _Peerless_," said Mr. Meyer, taking
his hand. "It is all right, my friend; you will not lose. And this is
Mr. Rowland--and this is der little child. Sit down, my friend. I
congratulate you on your escape."

"Thank you," said Rowland, weakly, as he seated himself; "they cut my
arm off at Christiansand, and I still live. That is my escape."

Captain Bryce and Mr. Austen, pale and motionless, stared hard at this
man, in whose emaciated face, refined by suffering to the almost
spiritual softness of age, they hardly recognized the features of the
troublesome sailor of the _Titan_. His clothing, though clean, was
ragged and patched.

Mr. Selfridge had arisen and was also staring, not at Rowland, but at
the child, who, seated in the lap of the big Captain Barry, was looking
around with wondering eyes. Her costume was unique. A dress of
bagging-stuff, put together--as were her canvas shoes and hat--with
sail-twine in sail-makers' stitches, three to the inch, covered skirts
and underclothing made from old flannel shirts. It represented many an
hour's work of the watch-below, lovingly bestowed by the crew of the
_Peerless_; for the crippled Rowland could not sew. Mr. Selfridge
approached, scanned the pretty features closely, and asked:

"What is her name?"

"Her first name is Myra," answered Rowland. "She remembers that; but I
have not learned her last name, though I knew her mother years
ago--before her marriage."

"Myra, Myra," repeated the