CHAPTER XXX.
A HEART OF SYMPATHY.
It was a stroke of the rarest good fortune that Laurier and Jessie should be saved by a homeward-bound steamer—the Scythia, going straight to New York.
What a sensation they created when the passengers discovered them floating in the water on the poor raft formed of the plank and the spar.
A boat was quickly lowered, and they were drawn into it with all speed, and, oh, what pity and kindness was showered on them after their long exposure and peril!
The men took charge of Laurier, and the women of Jessie, every one eager to contribute dry clothing and administer all needed comforts.
All were strangers alike to Jessie, but among the passengers Laurier found several acquaintances, people he had met in London barely a week ago, and whom he knew intimately in New York.
Laurier satisfied their curiosity by a straightforward recital of the burning of the Atlanta, then he was glad enough to have a warm meal and to be left to rest in his stateroom, where, spent and weary, he remained until late next morning.
When he came on deck in a fairly well-fitting suit of clothing contributed by a friend, he looked about anxiously for Jessie, hoping she was well enough to come out this bright, sunny morning.
But she was not visible.
“Miss Lyndon is not well enough to come out to-day. The doctor thinks she should rest in her stateroom till to-morrow,” he was told.