For a moment he felt savage, that his wife should be in a place like this; but then as a counterfoil there was the shuddering thought, she might have been overboard. Several men in the long, dark aisle stepped aside to let him pass. By-and-bye he reached the wretched little cabin which the women occupied. Helen was there, holding to one of the uprights for support, and bending over the woman as she applied a soothing lotion to her head with the other hand.
Involuntarily she started when she saw her husband approach.
"Sweetheart, this is no place for you," he muttered as he gently took her arm.
"I had to come," she answered, motioning toward the bed. "I did not know she was so ill until Mrs. Bond came for me an hour ago. She has been sick ever since we came on board."
The woman was indeed ill. She seemed almost dying, and the foul air only helped to aggravate her condition.
Harold drew Helen to one side. "This fetid place will kill you. You must come away," he said.
"Never fear," she replied trying to smile. "I am much needed and can stand anything. Both the other women are sick; and unless the poor creature is helped she will die."
"From her looks," said Harold, "there is no hope even now. You had better suggest to Mrs. Bond what to do, and then come with me. I will speak to the Colonel of her condition at once."
"It is the abominable air that is killing her," said Helen.
"It is fetid, sure enough; but the storm is abating and the hatches will soon be opened again," he returned.