Once she might have been pretty—even beautiful—but the sea had robbed her of all charm, leaving only the pitifulness of youth and womanhood. Howard drew a long breath as he looked at her, and a sudden rage rose within him. She should not die! He had torn her from the sea. She should not die!
Fragmentary ideas as to the proper thing to do came back to him. He bent down, chafing her wrists and temples; and then, raising her head, touched Jackson’s bottle to her lips. A long, shuddering sigh shook the girl’s body, and Howard saw a pair of brown eyes open and stare up at him; then close wearily. Again he raised her head. “Drink,” he commanded, as he poured the spirit between her parted lips.
As the strangling liquor went down, the eyes flashed open again, and the girl shook from head to foot with a coughing—so violent and so prolonged that Howard feared that he had overdone his task.
But it soon passed, leaving her conscious.
For a moment she lay still, vaguely puzzling over her situation. Then recollection returned with a jerk, and she sat up.
“I remember,” she gasped. “Oh, that dreadful wave! To see it come down, down, down—— Where am I?”
“You’re back on the Queen. It’s all right. Try to keep cool. You’ll be better in a moment.”
The wonder grew in the girl’s eyes. “The Queen!” she murmured. “The—Queen! How did I get back?”
“The waves washed you back and we managed to pull you on board. You had better rest a while. You have been unconscious a long time.”
The girl looked from one to the other.