After him ascended the two officers, and the boat and dock hands seized the ropes to haul the plank aboard. The whistle was blowing, wheels were turning, passengers crowded the rails to wave farewells to friends ashore who had come to see them off, and at this very last second a cab came dashing furiously down the street and up to the steamer’s side.
A woman leaped out, and rushed to the spot where the ship had been moored. She was almost past speaking from haste and excitement as she scanned the groups upon the deck, then with a look of satisfaction at sight of the Judge’s party, clasped her hands imploringly toward the captain and the mate.
“Don’t leave her, Captain Murray! I know her—she belongs to us—it isn’t her fault—throw the ladder out again, even if—” shouted the Judge.
There was no withstanding the sight of so many clasped, entreating hands, even by such a rigid disciplinarian as this fine skipper. For not only Miss Greatorex upon the wharf, but the two girls and Mrs. Hungerford had clasped theirs, also, begging a brief delay.
Then the officer waved his hand, down went the plank again, and a couple of sailors sprang forward to the teacher’s assistance. They had fairly to drag her up the now slippery incline, and almost to toss her upon the deck, where the Judge’s arm shot out for her support and the captain himself helped her to a chair.
Another instant they had put a stretch of water between them and the land, and a fresh uproar of whistles and bells announced that the steamer “Prince” had sailed.
But those near her had thought now only for Miss Greatorex. Her face was at first intensely red and she leaned back in her chair, with closed eyes and gasping breath. Indeed, so difficult her breathing that it seemed as if after each respiration she would never breathe again. Mrs. Hungerford made haste to hold a smelling bottle to the sufferer’s nostrils, but it was feebly waved aside as if it hindered rather than helped.
Then the color faded from the crimson face and all that terrible gasping ceased, so that those watching thought for a moment that life itself had ended.
“Fainted!” said the captain, tersely. “Get her to bed. Number Eight, take her ticket to the purser, get her stateroom key, and send the stewardess. Prompt, now.”
Fortunately, the room engaged for Miss Greatorex and Dorothy was on that deck and very near; and thither the dignified lady was quickly conveyed, very much as a sack of corn might have been. But as for Dorothy’s thoughts during this brief transit there is nothing comforting to say.