found our mob of stiffs, nursing their
hurts, and watching the cabin. For, as all the world of ships knew,
this was the time of day the lady came forward on her errand of mercy.
They were a sorry-looking mob, as sore of heart as of body.

It was not so much medical attention the stiffs wanted, I think, as
sympathy. Bruises and lacerations, so long as they didn't keep a man
off his feet, were lightly regarded in that tough crowd. But the
lady's sweet, sane being was a light in the pall of brutality that hung
over the ship. She was something more than woman, or doctor, to those
men; in her they saw the upper world they had lost, the fineness of
life they had never attained. They had all felt the heartening
influence of her presence at the muster; they craved for it now as
thirsty men crave for water. They were men in hell, and through the
lady they had a vision of heaven.

Two bells went, and then three, and the lady did not come. At last
Wong, the Chinese steward, came forward.

"All slick man go aft," says he. "Lady flix um."

"Is she not coming forward?" asked Newman.

"No can do. Slick man lay aft."

"What have you there?" I demanded, for he bore a glass filled with
liquid.

"Dosey. Mlissa Mate, him say give slick man inside," and he pointed
into the foc'sle.

Newman ripped out an oath. "Give it here. A bonesetter, not a dose of
physic is needed in there."

He reached out his hand, and Wong obediently surrendered the glass. He
surrendered something else. I was standing by Newman's side, and, saw
the piece of paper that passed into his hand with the tumbler.

Newman's face remained as impassive as the Chinaman's own. He sniffed
of the draught, made a wry face and tossed it, glass and all, over the
side into the sea. Then he turned on his heel and went into the
foc'sle. Wong went aft, followed by most of the watch.

I went after Newman. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk, musing,
and the note was open upon his knee. He handed it to me to read.

It was just a strip of wrapping paper, hastily scribbled over in
pencil. But the handwriting was dainty and feminine. It was from the
lady, plainly enough, even though no name was signed.

"_We have quarreled, and he has forbidden me to leave the cabin, or go
forward this voyage. He is drinking, he is desperate--oh, Roy, be
careful, he is capable of anything. I know him now. Do not come aft
with the sick._"

I looked at Newman inq