nly turned and faced him. "The doctor! Why, I'm not sick, Basil!
If you can see the purser and get our rooms changed, or do something to
stop those waves from slapping against that horrible blinking one-eyed
window, you can save my life; but no tonic is going to help me."

She turned her face from him again, and buried it in the bedclothes,
while he looked desperately at the racing waves, and the port that seemed
to open and shut like a weary eye.

"Oh, go away!" she implored. "I shall be better presently, but if you
stand there like that--Go and see if you can't get some other room, where
I needn't feel as if I were drowning, all the way over."

He obeyed, so far as to go away at once, and having once started, he did
not stop short of the purser's office. He made an excuse of getting
greenbacks for some English bank-notes, and then he said casually that he
supposed there would be no chance of having his room on the lower deck
changed for something a little less intimate with the sea. The purser was
not there to take the humorous view, but he conceived that March wanted
something higher up, and he was able to offer him a room of those on the
promenade where he had seen swells going in and out, for six hundred
dollars. March did not blench, but said he would get his wife to look at
it with him, and then he went out somewhat dizzily to take counsel with
himself how he should put the matter to her. She would be sure to ask
what the price of the new room would be, and he debated whether to take
it and tell her some kindly lie about it, or trust to the bracing effect
of the sum named in helping restore the lost balance of her nerves. He
was not so rich that he could throw six hundred dollars away, but there
might be worse things; and he walked up and down thinking. All at once it
flashed upon him that he had better see the doctor, anyway, and find out
whether there were not some last hope in medicine before he took the
desperate step before him. He turned in half his course, and ran into a
lady who had just emerged from the door of the promenade laden with
wraps, and who dropped them all and clutched him to save herself from
falling.

"Why, Mr. March!" she shrieked.

"Miss Triscoe!" he returned, in the astonishment which he shared with her
to the extent of letting the shawls he had knocked from her hold lie
between them till she began to pick them up herself. Then he joined her
and in the relief of their common occupatio