To his excellency, as the last boats got away, Doane said: “I will follow you soon. I must look once more for the captain.”
“I will send back a boat,” said the viceroy.
Doane ran up to the upper and promenade decks. There was no sound save the roaring and crackling of the fire. There seemed no chance of getting forward. In the large after cabin stood the six-fold Ming screen. Quickly he folded it; there seemed a chance of getting it ashore. He thought, with a passing regret, of the pi of jade; but there was no reaching his own cabin now. He stepped out on deck. There, clear aft, leaning against the cabin wall, stood Rocky Kane, like a man half asleep, rubbing his eyes; and crouching against his knee, clinging to his hand, was the little princess in her gay golden yellow vest over the flowered skirt and her quaint hood of fox skin.
Doane caught the young man's shoulder; swung him about; looked closely into the dull eyes with the tiny pupils.
“So!” he cried, “that again, eh!”
“I can't understand”—thus Rocky—“I don't see how it could have happened. It couldn't have been my fault.”
Doane saw now that his head had been burned above one ear; and the hand that pressed his face was blistered white.
“It wasn't my fault! I found myself out on deck. I tried to get the hose.”
“Yes, I saw you. Quick—get below.”
Doane tenderly lifted the little princess.