the young American girl renew the bandages on
his hands after dressing the burns. Half an hour after he had apologized
for speaking so roughly to her, she decided that it was her duty to hunt
him up and minister to him. The ship was rolling terribly, the din of
the elements was deafening, but Olga Obosky was not a faint-hearted
person. She went forth boldly, confidently. Terrified, clinging
observers marvelled at her sure-footedness, at the graceful way in which
her sinuous body bent itself to the perilous heavings of the vessel.

She found him in the reading-room, seated in a corner. Miss Clinton was
readjusting the bandage on one of his hands. Half a dozen people were
in the room, manfully defying the turmoil that had sent nearly every one
else to bed in terror and distress. Without hesitation the dancer joined
the couple in the corner. Her smile was engaging; a faint line between
her eyebrows signified the concern she felt for him.

WEST WIND DRIFT

Miss Clinton looked up from her work. Her smile was politely
accusative,--and brief.

"It is all my fault," began Madame Obosky, standing before them, her
feet wide apart, her knees bent slightly to meet the varying slants and
lurches of the vessel. She spoke the English language confidently and
well. Her accent, which was scarcely noticeable, betrayed the fact that
she had mastered French long before attempting English. There was
a piquant boldness in the occasional misplacing of words and in the
haphazard construction of sentences. She was unafraid.

"I have subject him to much pain and discomfort," she went on,
addressing the girl. "Those poor hand! It is I who should kiss them,
Mademoiselle, not you."

"Kiss them?" gasped Miss Clinton.

"Of no doubt," said Madame Obosky readily. "Do they not pain because of
me? Should I not kiss the hand who snatch me from the horrible death?
From the Kingdom Come, as the doctor he say to me such a little time
ago. And you, Mademoiselle, who have not been save by him from
the Kingdom Come, you attend his hands and make him to be greatly
comfortable."

"I am merely dressing the burns, Madame Obosky," said the other, coldly.
"I have done as much for the other poor fellows who--"

"I know, I know," broke in the Russian, smiling. "You must not be offend
with me if I speak your language so badly."

"It strikes me you speak it most acceptably," interposed Percival.

"What is your name?" she asked abruptly. "I have heard you ca