"What is the matter, dear?" he asked. "Why do you look so sadly at me?"
She was about to answer, but she changed her mind.
"Sad?" she murmured, as if surprised. "Why should I be sad? I should surely be the happiest girl in the world to-night."
"But you are not," he answered. "I can see you're unhappy. Come, dear, tell me everything. You are grieved, I suppose, at finding your father so changed? Is not that so?"
"Partly," she answered in a whisper; and then, for some reason of her own, she added quietly, "but Madame recognised him at once, though she had not seen him for so many years. My poor father, how much he has suffered!"
Browne condoled with her, and ultimately succeeded in inducing her to retire to her cabin, assuring her that MacAndrew and himself would in turns watch by her father's side until morning.
"How good you are!" she said, and kissed him softly. Then, with another glance at the huddled-up figure in the easy-chair, but without kissing him, as Browne had quite expected she would do, she turned and left the cabin.
It was just two o'clock, and a bitterly cold morning. Though Browne had declared that MacAndrew would share his vigil with him, he was not telling the truth, knowing that the other must be worn out after his travels of the last few days. For this reason he persuaded Jimmy to take him below, and to get him to bed at once. Then he himself returned to the deck-house, and set to work to make Katherine's father as comfortable as possible for the night.
Just after daylight Browne was awakened by a knocking at the door. He crossed and opened it. It proved to be the captain. He was plainly under the influence of intense excitement.
"I don't know how to tell you, sir," he said. "I assure you I would not have had it happened for worlds. I have never been so upset in my life by anything."