"Father wished us all to stay here," she said reproachfully.
He turned back, with a movement full of agonized uncertainty.
"I know," he murmured, "but—"
He stood irresolute, with his perplexed face turning from the outer door to her own up-looking eyes.
"And if he needs you he certainly will let you know," she added, with some asperity.
He smiled, and reseated himself beside her.
"You are right, as usual, Miss Faith. He certainly knows—"
"Knows what?" she asked at length, as his sentence remained unfinished.
"Knows that I am here and ready," he returned, with a smile, but she noticed that his eyes often sought the door, and his manner was that of one alert for action.
The women, who had children asleep in the staterooms, had run to them with the first alarm, and these, with the ayahs and babies, now began creeping back into the saloon, longing for fellowship in this trying hour; while, the first dire shock over, the men of cool thoughtfulness, like the Traveler, Mr. Lawrence, Carnegie, and a few others, began making all of them as comfortable as possible, forming them into compact groups, guarded from the danger of breaking furniture, woodwork, and glass, by their own watchfulness, as they made a cordon around them. Many were unable to lift their heads from illness, and others went from hysterics into fainting fits.