Mrs. Falchion, Volume 1.

the vague horizon. A few lascars were still cleansing the decks; others were seated on their haunches between decks, eating curry from a calabash; a couple of passengers were indolently mu

was the head of a man. With cries of "Man overboard!" I threw two or three buoys after the disappearing head, above which a bare arm thrust itself. I heard the rush of feet behind me, and in a moment Hungerford and Stone were beside me.

the gunner were collected. The boat should have been launched in a minute, but still it hung between its davits; its course downward was interrupted; something was wrong with the ropes, "A false start, by -- !" said the bookmaker, looking through his eye-glass. Colonel Ryder's face was stern, Clovelly was pale and anxious, as moment after moment went, and the boat was not yet free. Ages seemed to pass before the boat was let down even with the bulwarks, and a crew of ten, with Hungerford in command, were in it, ready to be lowered. Whether the word was given to lower, or whether it was any one's

lower the boat, I asked the first officer if I could accompany the crew, but he said no. I could, therefore, do nothing but wait. A change came on the crowd. It became painfully silent, none speaking save in whispers, and all watching with anxious faces either the receding heads in the water or the unfortunate boat's crew. Hungerford showed himself a thorough sailor. Hanging to the davit, he quietly, reassuringly, gave the order for righting the boat, virtually taking the command ou

work of rescue was begun. Sailors were aloft on watch, Captain Ascott was on the bridge, sweeping the sea with his glass; order was restored. But the ship had the feeling of a home from which some familiar inmate had been taken, to return no

t shocked me. I hurried below, and went to the cabin of Boyd Madras. It was empty; but on a shelf lay a large envelope, addressed to Hungerford and myself. I tore it open. There was a small packet, whi

thes were folded upon one of the berths; but the garments of masquerade were not in the cabin. Had he then gone out of the world in the garb of a mummer? Not alt

rt. He said that his gratitude was unspeakable, and now must be so for ever. He begged us not to let the world know who he was, nor his relationship to Mrs. Falchion, unles

ho had gone overboard. I told him that it was. He disappeared, and soon the whole ship knew it. I went to the captain, gave him the letter, and told him only what was necessary to tell. He was on the bridge, and was occupied with giving directions, so he a

ke. Dying men, however, make few apologies, and I shall make none. My existence, as you know, is an uncertain quantity, and may be cut short at any moment in the ordinary course of things. But I have no future in the active concerns of

riend of mine. My death adjusts a balance, perhaps not nicely, yet it d

ll. Why he cried out "Man overboard" (for now I recognised that it was his voice which gave th

at the curtain of my cabin. I he

and the horror and excitement of the accident had brought on an apoplectic fit. This in a very hot climate is suddenly fata

ad 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

ould soon become commo

d. I introduced him to Mrs. Falchion last night, but he did not stay long on deck, because he felt ill. He had heart tr

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 t

s. Then they turned their attention again upon the rescue party. It was impossible not to note what a fine figure Hungerford made, as he stood erect in the bow, his hand over his eyes, searching the water. Presently we saw him stop the b

c: as one has seen astonishing figures set in balls of solid glass. This figure framed in the sea was Boyd Madras. The boat was signalled, it drew near, and two men dragged the body in, as a shark darted forward, just too late, to seize it. The boat drew alongside the 'Fulvia'. I stood at the gangway to receive this castaway. I felt his wrist and heart. As I did so I c

rked with a kind of desperation, for it seemed to Hungerford and myself that somehow we were responsible to humanity for him. His heart had been weak, but there had been no organic trouble: only some functional disorder, which open-ai

slight motion of the chest. Presently a longer breath came, and the eyes opened; at first without

tartled me. He gasped, "Do

es

ust continu

hy

ather die a thousand deaths than meet her now; because she hates me. I must begin the world again. Y

his is the corpse of Boyd Madras, and we'll bury it for him," he said with quick bluntness. "Do not report this death to Captain Ascott-he would only raise objections to the idea. This lascar was

sional, but the entreating words of the resuscita

sent cabin, of which I had a key, until we reached A

d him the scarlet and gold cloth that Madras had worn. Then I got a sailor, who supposed Boyd Madras was bef

gs, but then it seemed right to do as Madras wishe

, I went on deck. Mrs. Falchion was still there. Some one

d, and she shuddered again, though her face showed no remarkabl

o her: "Madame, you should not have come. You should

said: "A strange whim, to die in those fanciful r

h courage who make men do su

ad written to me the record of last night's meeting with her, and that he had left a letter which was to be made public. As I said these things we

s coldness, "what use shall you

h, that your relationship to him be kep

actically there is none. . . . Oh! oh!" she added, with a sudden change in her voice, "why did he do as he did, and make every

parent feeling, but I knew she was thinking

oud could be prepared for gunner Fife and able-seaman Winter, whose bodies had no Christian burial, but were swallowed by

y are. The lonely waters stretching to the horizon helped t

rd it recited by a clergyman. To hear it read by a hardy man, whose life is among stern duties, is to receive a new impression. He knows nothing of lethargic monotone; he interprets as he reads. And when the man is the home-spun captain of a ship, who sees before him the poor shell of one that served him for ten years, "T

the words, "We therefore commit their bodies to the deep." But, the moment they were uttered, the bier was lifted, there was a swift plunge, and only the flag and the empty boards were left. The sobbing

e thought, her husband was being buried. When, however, the weighted body divided the water with a swingeing sound, her face suddenly suffused, as though shame had touc

sengers dispersed, some below, some to the smoking-rooms, some upon deck-chairs to doze through the rest of the lazy afternoon. The world had taken up i

natural life"-here she paused, and bit her lip in vexation that t

or using the name, but it is only this once,-I shall never speak of the

eading the letter which Boyd Madras had wished to be made public. (I had given it to him just before the burial, and he was acting as though Boyd Madras was really dead-he was quite ignorant of our c

ver have hesitated between the two. It was plain to me that Mrs. Falchion was bent upon making a conquest of this girl who so delicately withstood her; and Belle Treherne has told me since, that, when in her presence, and listening to her, she was irresistibly drawn to her; though at the same time she saw there was some significant lack in her nature; some hardness impossible to any one who had ever known love. She also told me that on this occasion Mrs. Falchion did not

ter. It occurred to me that once or twice I had seen her eyes fixed on Hungerford inquisitively, and not free from antipathy. It was something behind her usual equanimity. Her intuitive observation had led her to trace his hand in recent events. Yet I know she admired him too for his brave conduct. The day following the tragedy we were seated at dinner. The captain and most of the officers had risen, but Mrs. Falchion,

ften respect brave me

not altogether churlishly replied: "And I might say the same of women,

a brave man without seein

ailor," he rejoined, "wh

ung yet," s

er to-morrow,"

better to-morrow," she rej

ded. Then Hungerford smiled at me ins