There was something in the tone of these replies that quelled the invalid’s disposition to talk, and she remained silent while her companion finished her arrangements and prepared to take possession of her berth.  It was time that she did so.  The threatened gale was by this time blowing in earnest, and the ship was commencing to roll fearfully; so, after securing all the boxes and bags as well as possible, and hanging up all the scattered garments, she made a hasty retreat to her couch, and lay there only half undressed, but utterly prostrate, and as unable to touch the tea and biscuits brought by the attentive stewardess as was her more delicate and suffering room-mate.

Time passed on:  the daylight faded from the sky, a feeble glimmering lamp shed its faint rays into the state-room, and the great steamship went steadily on, though rocked and tossed like a plaything by the whistling winds and angry sea.  Then midnight came:  the lights in the state-rooms were extinguished and a profound silence reigned throughout the cabins, broken only by the ceaseless throb of the mighty engines and the noisy clanking of the screw.

The state-room was wrapped in profound darkness when Rhoda Steele awoke with a start as from some troubled dream.  Was she still dreaming, or did she indeed hear a strange choking sound proceeding from the lower berth?  She sprang to the floor at once, heeding neither the darkness nor the violent motion, and clinging to the side of the berth she called aloud.  There was no answer:  even the gurgling, choking sound she had at first heard had ceased.  She put out her hand, and it encountered her companion’s face.  It was deathly cold, and the features quivered as if convulsed under her touch.  Again she called aloud—­still no answer; and then, thoroughly frightened, she caught up a cloak from the sofa, threw it around her, and opening the state-room door, she rushed into the cabin.  It was almost deserted.  The lamps swung heavily overhead, swayed by the unceasing rolling of the ship; a drowsy waiter slumbered at one of the tables, his head resting on his folded arms; and one or two sleepy passengers tried to maintain a recumbent posture on the broad sofas that lined the sides.  The cries of the terrified girl soon brought several of the waiters to her assistance, and Captain Wessels himself, who had not retired to rest, owing to the stormy weather, came to ascertain the cause of the unusual disturbance.  Her story was quickly told:  lights were brought, and the captain accompanied her back to the state-room.

It was a pitiful sight that met their eyes.  The young girl lay motionless in her berth, her face tinged with a livid bluish hue, her eyes closed, and her small hands clenched as if in agony.

“The doctor!—­run for the doctor!” was the instant and universal exclamation.  The doctor came.  One look at the pallid face, one touch on the slender wrist, and he turned with a grave face to the bystanders.