Mr. Lamarque approached us while the conference with the captain was going on, and, under the seal of secrecy, the condition of affairs was communicated to that gentleman.

I never saw a man so crushed and calm at the same time.  His handsome face seemed turned to stone—­he scarcely spoke at all, and made no inquiries.  I think his mind, like mine, was made up to the worst.  Yet he commanded himself so far as to go to the breakfast-table and superintend the meal of his little children, about whom he hung, like a mother-bird who sees the shadow of a hawk above her brood, from that moment until the denoument of the drama separated us two forever.

Miss Lamarque and I sat down together on a bench, while the host of hungry passengers crowded down to the cabin at the welcome summons of the bell, and I was aware again of the pale widow and her patient child standing near me.

A sudden thought occurred to me.  This woman, more than any one among us, needed the strengthening stimulus of good food, and this meal might be her last on shipboard—­on earth, perhaps—­for a dull, low, ominous sound began to make itself heard to my ear as soon as the murmur of the crowd subsided.

“Trust me with your child again while you go down and eat your breakfast in my place to-day.  It is a whim of mine.  I have had coffee with this lady in her state-room, and shall not appear at the table.  You may bring me a slice of bread, if you choose, when you come back, and one for baby.  Do not refuse me this favor.”

Much pleased at my attention, as I could see, she went to the grand first table, with its high-heaped salvers of snowy rolls and biscuit, its delicate birds and fowls, its fragrant coffee and tea, so different from the dregs of the humble board at which her second-class ticket alone entitled her to appear; and, to save her from possible humiliation, I wrote a line to the steward; so she feasted, no doubt, in state.

Again I enacted the role of self-appointed nurse to a creature that looked more like a fairy changeling than a flesh-and-blood creation.

“You are a strange woman, Miriam Harz!  At such an hour as this, what matters the quality of food?” said Miss Lamarque, sententiously.  “After all, what can that invalid and her child be to you in any case?  They are essentially common and mean.  You never saw them before, and may never see them again.”

“In view of such a catastrophe as that before us, all distinctions fade, Miss Lamarque.  This is the last meal any one will take on the ship Kosciusko—­she is doomed!  The woman might as well get strength for the chance of saving herself and child.  I doubt whether any second table will be spread to-day!” I spoke with anguish.

“You cannot believe this!  Why, after what the captain said, days may go by before any real danger manifests itself!  Ships must pass in the interval—­many ships may pass to-day, within a few hours, ready for our relief, if needed; and see, the smoke has ceased to curl about your broken main-mast!  That shows convincingly that the fire is being gotten under—­extinguished, probably.”