‘I am not willing, Mr. Harris,’ said I. ‘I do not like the idea.’
Seeing that I was moving away he exclaimed: ‘If you leave yourself in the hands of the doctor he’ll do nothing for you. Place yourself in my hands. I’m your man.’
Thus speaking he climbed the stairs, and I entered my berth. I considered Mr. Harris, the chief officer, eccentric and well meaning, and I dismissed him from my mind when, having sent the stewardess to Mrs. Lee, I entered my berth.
I stood with my eyes fixed upon the cabin porthole, that was at one moment buried in the white thunder of the pouring waters and at the next lifted high and weeping into the windy dazzle of the afternoon, thinking over what had passed in the captain’s cabin; and whilst I thus stood, a strange and awful feeling as of the unreality of all things took possession of me. Everything seemed part of the fabric of a dream, and I, the central dreamer of it all, seemed the most dreamlike feature of the mocking and startling vision. Oh, what a strange and horrible feeling was that!
It was dispelled by the entrance of Mrs. Richards. Her hearty, homely presence brought me to my senses.
‘Well, it is good news indeed!’ cried she. ‘Mrs. Lee has told me what the captain said, and I am truly glad to know that there is no chance of your leaving the ship until your memory is able to point true to your own home. What think you of this bonnet? And what do you say to this cloak? I am sure the Lees, mother and daughter, are the very soul of goodness. But who could help being kind to one in your condition? So helpless! So lonely! And Mrs. Lee has settled that you’re not a Calthorpe. Well, I daresay she’s right. And yet, do you know that little City gentleman don’t look much of a fool either. But whatever you be you’re a born lady. There’s breeding in your voice—oh! I’ve got an ear for quality voices. The cloak’s a bit short, but it looks very well. Let me pin that veil for you.’
And now, being equipped for the deck, I ascended to the saloon. Mrs. Lee waited for me near the hatchway. She said that her daughter was sleeping, and then putting her hand with an affectionate gesture upon my arm she exclaimed:
‘Alice has told me what passed between you before lunch. I am sure she will be able to help you. She is my child, she is flesh of my flesh, yet I think of her as an angel of God, and His praises no angel in heaven could sing with a purer and holier heart, and He will forgive me for believing this.’
She released my arm, and bowed her head and stood silent a minute, struggling with emotion. We then mounted on to the deck.
The scene was noble and inspiring. The high seas came brimming to the ship, their colour was sapphire, and as they rolled they broke into dazzling masses of foam. The stately swollen white clouds of the morning were still on high; they floated in slow processions across the masts which reeled solemnly as though to music. The sails upon the ship were few, and their iron-hard, distended concavities hummed like a ceaseless roll of military drums in their echoing of the pursuing thunder of the wind. The water roared in snowstorms from either bow as the great ship rushed onwards, and the broad and hissing furrow she left behind seemed to stream to the very horizon, lifting and falling straight as a line, like the scintillant scar of a shooting star on the cold blue heights of the night.