As the sound of his voice died away, the vision faded. Helen looked round, and found herself upon the sea, and heard again the water lapping against the ship. Only there was a change. The air was cold and charged with moisture. The distant coast-line had disappeared from sight, and the delicate gray veil had given place to a thick mist, through which the pale dawn strove in vain to pierce.
She sat quite still, trying to collect her thoughts. The impression left upon her by her dream was so vivid that it was at first impossible to believe that she had been asleep, and even when she succeeded in persuading herself that this had been the case the conviction remained that Harold lived, that he was waiting for her, and that they would meet again. This conviction gave her neither pleasure nor pain, but was so settled that it would have surprised her more to have seen her father standing beside her than Harold. She was curiously tranquillized too. All the vain longings and regrets that had troubled her so sorely of late were stilled. She felt quite happy and at rest, and regardless of the rolling mist which seemed to be closing in round the ship, she curled herself up in her long chair and fell fast asleep.
The child slept soundly, although the mist thickened and increased rapidly, and the captain, hastily aroused, paced the deck anxiously. Speed was reduced, all hands were on the alert, and discordant blasts on the fog-horn disturbed the quiet. Still Helen did not stir, until, suddenly, from the look-out there came a ringing cry, "Ship ahead!" Then she started up and saw what looked through the mist like a phantom ship bearing down upon the doomed vessel on which she stood. Half paralysed by vague fear, although quite ignorant of the reality of the peril, Helen remained rooted to the spot, whilst a few minutes of agonizing suspense ensued, and the captain's voice rang out his orders and each man went to his post. Then came a crash, a shock, under which the vessel shuddered like a living thing, and, almost as it seemed the next moment, the phantom-like ship, her deadly work done, was moving away, disregarding the affrighted shrieks with which the air was suddenly filled.
The passengers, rudely awakened, rushed on deck. Cries and shrieks were soon redoubled, for almost immediately after she was struck the ship stopped, and it became known that water was pouring into the engine-room, extinguishing the fires. There followed a few minutes of indescribable confusion, during which the men held bravely to their posts, until, once more, and for the last time, the captain's voice rang out clear and calm from the bridge:
"All hands clear away the boats! Save yourselves! To the boats!"
Instantly there was a rush for the boats, one of which was lashed to the ship close to where Helen was standing wringing her hands and calling wildly for her father.
Before the boat could be lowered it was filled, but a ship's officer, compassionating the lonely, terrified child, was just about to place Helen in the already heavily-weighted craft, when a woman, who, with a child in her arms, had just managed to scramble in, started up, screaming:
"My boy, my boy! He is not here! Save him, oh, save him!"
At sound of her voice a delicate, lame boy, between whom and Helen there had been a sort of friendship, pressed forward, but was instantly borne back by the excited crowd.
"Help him, I can manage for myself," said Helen, disengaging herself from her would-be deliverer's grasp and pointing to the boy.