"Pray give me your hand," said I.
She extended it as a child might. I led her to an arm-chair and gently obliged her to sit. A decanter half-full of sherry stood in the swing-tray. I poured a little of the wine into a glass, and presented it to her; she took it and drank. Her behavior and looks were absolutely rational, clouded as they were by a bewilderment which her eyes appeared to express as hopeless. She had been fasting for many hours, and I was sure I could not do better than make her take food. I beckoned to Tom, who stood staring at the lady from the other end of the cabin. He approached, though he kept the table between him and Miss Noble. Her bewilderment visibly deepened as her eyes rested on his black face. I directed him to obtain the most delicate refreshments which the cabin larder of the schooner yielded, and to bear a hand.
"You have been long asleep," said I, gently. "You were unconscious when you were brought aboard this vessel—for you know now that you are at sea—and you must not wonder that you are bewildered on waking to find yourself in this strange scene."
"Where am I?" she asked, in a voice that was but a little above a whisper, so breathless was she with continued surprise.
"You are on board a schooner called La Casandra. I am acting as her captain. We are now making haste to return to England, to restore you to your home."
"England—home?" she muttered, looking at me, then around her, then down at the dressing-gown she was robed in, then pulling a sleeve of the gown a little way up the arm and gazing at the bracelets upon her wrists. "Why am I here?" she exclaimed, drawing a breath that sounded like a sob.
"Will you not wait till you have eaten a trifle? Nothing has passed your lips for very many hours. As strength returns, your memory will brighten, and I know I shall make you happy by the assurance I am able to give you."
"Why am I here?" she repeated.