“Nothing was said for some moments. I was at a loss for speech. It was the same as hearing of the death of one beloved by the person you are with when the news is given to him; what can you say? Presently I said to the man—
“‘Did you sight any ships whilst you were adrift?’
“‘Nothing, sir.’
“‘But won’t the ice you ran into,’ said I, ‘be well within the limits of the ocean fairway?’
“He could not answer me this.
“‘How far south did you drift?’
“He did not know.
“‘If they are on the ice is it too late to rescue them, sir?’ I inquired, addressing the captain, after another pause.
“He seemed too distracted by grief to heed my question.
“‘I had hoped,’ he said, speaking in short breathings and broken sentences, ‘to find her safe at Sydney on my arrival there; she went home last year on a visit to her mother. It was arranged that Captain Smalley, an old friend, should bring her out. Ten days ago,’ he muttered to himself, ‘ten days ago.’ He covered his eyes with his hand, then looking vacantly at his sextant, went to the rail and seemed to stare out to sea into the south.