That night Miss Landon lay in her narrow bed, made short-stops of her elbows, and listened to the lash and roar of the rolling sea. At times the ship sank so deep into the main that one would fancy the keel scraping the bottom of the Atlantic. Nowhere in this world does one feel one’s insignificance and utter helplessness more than at mid-ocean in such a sea. Miss Landon found herself thinking how helpless she would be in the world if that kind, indulgent father were to pass away. Half her fortune was invested in a railway along with the fortunes of friends and neighbors, who knew nothing about the business. Naturally enough her mind went back to her own experience on a mountain railroad, and to the handsome conductor. She went to sleep thinking of McGuire, dreamed of McGuire, and woke up with McGuire fresh in her mind, and marvelled at it.
For three days and nights the sea rushed past the rolling ship, and Landon lay in a semi-sane condition.
Finally, at dawn one day, the ship slowed down and picked up a pilot out of a small boat that was floundering in the ocean and apparently enjoying it.
“I want to see one of your passengers, a Mr. Landon, before I go upon the bridge, captain,” said the man.
“Mr. Landon is not fit to be seen,” said the captain. “He had an accident Monday afternoon off the banks.”
“But I must see him, captain.”
“Well, you persistent old salt, if you must, then take my advice and see his daughter, she’s a whole lot better-looking.”
“I have a very important message for your father, Miss Landon,” said the pilot, making a sailor’s bow.
“Thank you, I’ll take it.”
“But—I have sworn to give it into no hands but his, and I—”