From the centre of the low ceiling hung a lamp, and although mid-day, its flickering light merely made the darkness visible. On the floor were a couple of wooden stools; and upon the straw pallet of a lower berth lay the woman. Covered with a grey blanket she tossed from side to side with every movement of the ship; while her husband sat by her and wiped away the saliva that ran from her mouth.
Helen was reluctant to leave, but she yielded, and Harold led the way to the upper air. The sky was already clearing, and the waves had ceased to wash the deck.
"What a pity we have no doctor on board!" she said, grasping his arm as they steered for their own gangway. "It does not give the poor woman a chance."
"The fact is, the marine surgeon took ill and had to be left behind at the last moment, so the order came to have his place supplied when we reach Halifax. Still the captain has a supply of medicines and is skilful," said Harold.
"I know," returned Helen. "The women say he has given her calomel every day since we sailed, and yet she gets worse."
"Perhaps his doses are not large enough," said Harold. "I know the doctors call it one of their sheet anchors. I will speak to the Colonel about it."
"And shall we have to go all the way to Penetang without a doctor?" Helen asked with a little tremor in her voice.
"Oh, no, dearie; that will be arranged for when we reach port."
"Hello, my lady! So you were playing truant! trying hide-go-seek in the nether regions, I hear," cried the Colonel with a laugh, as they entered the saloon.
"The women sent for me, Sir George," she answered gravely; "that poor woman Jenkins is very ill."