"What is it?" asked the Nurse, with one of her direct, searching glances. "Speak out—I'm a woman like yourself, and can understand."
"Well, it's about the Hour of Silence. I must have one hour every day when I can be alone. It has been the custom of my life and I cannot omit it. It will be many days before we reach the land, and there is no other place for me to pray except in here. Would you object if I—"
"Object! Of course not! I will help you to keep it, and I will see, too, that the Stewardess does not disturb you. Now, is there anything else? Tell me—I love people who speak right out what they mean."
"No—except that I always rise at dawn, and will be gone when you wake. Good-night."
The morning after this first night the two lay in their steamer chairs on the upper deck. The First Officer, noticing them together, paused for a moment on his way to the bridge:
"You knew, of course, Miss Jennings, that Hobson went back to Cherbourg on the tender. He left good-by for you."
"Hunting for somebody, as usual, I suppose?" she rejoined.
"Yes"—and he passed on.
"A wretched life, isn't it," said Nurse Jennings, "this hunting for criminals? This same man, Mr. Hobson, after a hunt of months, found one in my ward with a bullet through his chest."
"You know him then?" asked Sister Teresa, with a tremor in her voice.