at hanging from her davits.

But before these hopes could take shape the woman and her glass died
out of sight behind the rail of the steamer. In about a minute she
reappeared, stood up erect, and applied a speaking-trumpet to her
mouth. It was possible that a high, shrill voice might have been heard
from one vessel to the other, but it was plain enough that this was a
woman who took no useless chances. I, too, must be prepared to hail as
well as to be hailed. Quickly I secured a speaking-trumpet from the
captain's room, and stood up at my post.

Across the water came the monosyllable, "Ho!" and back I shouted,
"Hallo!"

Then came these words, as clear and distinct as any I ever heard in my
life: "Are you Mr. Rockwell?"

This question almost took away my senses. Was this reality? or had a
spirit risen from this lonely ocean to summon me somewhere? Was this
the way people died? Rockwell? Yes, my name was Rockwell. At least it
had been. I was sure of nothing now.

Again came the voice across the sea. "Why don't you answer?" it said.

I raised my trumpet to my lips. At first I could make no sound, but,
controlling my agitation a little, I shouted: "Yes!"

Instantly the woman disappeared, and for ten minutes I saw her no
more. During that time I did nothing but stand and look at the steamer,
which was moving more slowly than before, for the reason that the wind
was dying away. She was now, however, nearly opposite me, and so near
that if the wind should cease entirely, conversation might be held
without the aid of trumpets. I earnestly hoped this might be the case,
for I had now recovered the possession of my senses, and greatly
desired to hear the natural voice of that young woman on the steamer.

As soon as she reappeared I made a trial of the power of my voice.
Laying down the trumpet I shouted: "Who are you?"

Back came the answer, clear, high, and perfectly audible: "I am Mary
Phillips."

Mary Phillips! it seemed to me that I remembered the name. I was
certainly familiar with the erect attitude, and I fancied I recognized
the features of the speaker. But this was all; I could not place her.

Before I could say anything she hailed again: "Don't you remember me?"
she cried, "I lived in Forty-second Street."

The middle of a wild and desolate ocean and a voice from Forty-second
Street! What manner of conjecture was this? I clasped my head in my
hands and tried to think. Suddenly a memory came to me: a wi