The train moved slowly up to the boat-side. Delafield jumped out. The sleeping-car was yielding up its passengers. He soon made out the small black hat and veil, the slender form in the dark travelling-dress.
Was she fainting? For she seemed to him to waver as he approached her, and the porter who had taken her rugs and bag was looking at her in astonishment. In an instant he had drawn her arm within his, and was supporting her as he best could,
"The car was very hot, and I am so tired. I only want some air."
They reached the deck.
"You will go down-stairs?"
"No, no--some air!" she murmured, and he saw that she could hardly keep her feet.
But in a few moments they had reached the shelter on the upper deck usually so well filled with chairs and passengers on a day crossing. Now it was entirely deserted. The boat was not full, the night was cold and stormy, and the stream of passengers had poured down into the shelter of the lower deck.
Julie sank into a chair. Delafield hurriedly loosened the shawl she carried with her from its attendant bag and umbrella, and wrapped it round her.
"It will be a rough crossing," he said, in her ear. "Can you stand it on deck?"
"I am a good sailor. Let me stay here."