"I saw her at the third boat," said the first officer. "You must look alive, Mr. Howland—we'll have to lower directly the Captain comes. The deck's going now."
The ship-owner heard these words with a sigh of relief and stepped into the boat without further ado.
"Every one accounted for?" repeated Dan as he dashed along deck to the boat.
Something, a faint suggestion of sound rather than sound itself caused him to pause. He heard nothing more, though he listened for a full minute. Instinctively he turned to a stateroom in the midship deck-house.
"Captain Merrithew—are—you—coming?" The first officer's voice arose in impatient cadence.
"Yes—hold there a minute!" replied Dan, twisting the knob of the door. It was locked. He ran back a few paces and sprang at it with his shoulder. It trembled and gave. He rushed again and the door crashed inward. The room was filling with smoke.
And on the bunk sat Virginia, her hands on her knees, her head hanging low and swaying dazedly from side to side. She was on the verge of collapse; but she looked up and smiled faintly as Dan burst in. Then her head fell again.
"I knew you would come," she muttered.
Without a word Dan seized her by the arm and led her swiftly to the shattered door. As they reached the threshold there came a dull boom from below—the vessel shivered. A sheet of flame swept the entire forward deck, and Dan looked out into a red, pulsing wall.
In terror the men in the fourth and last boat, the fire licking their faces, let go the falls, and the little craft struck the water with a crash, but on an even keel.