Another boat clattered down the steel sides and cleared safely, and still another.  The last boat was filling with the last of the crew.

“Everybody accounted for?” Dan’s shout as he rushed down from the curling bridge brought Mr. Howland up with a sudden fear.  He had taken his daughter to the starboard boat only to find it full, and had sent her across to the third boat, while he superintended the adjustment of a wedged block.  This done, he had hurried to the starboard, only to find the third boat overboard and well away.  He had assumed that she was all right.  But a cold rush of doubt assailed him.

“Virginia, Virginia—­are you all right?” he called in tones of agony.

“I saw her at the third boat,” said the first officer.  “You must look alive, Mr. Howland—­we’ll have to lower directly the Captain comes.  The deck’s going now.”

The ship-owner heard these words with a sigh of relief and stepped into the boat without further ado.

“Every one accounted for?” repeated Dan as he dashed along deck to the boat.

Something, a faint suggestion of sound rather than sound itself caused him to pause.  He heard nothing more, though he listened for a full minute.  Instinctively he turned to a stateroom in the midship deck-house.

“Captain Merrithew—­are—­you—­coming?” The first officer’s voice arose in impatient cadence.

“Yes—­hold there a minute!” replied Dan, twisting the knob of the door.  It was locked.  He ran back a few paces and sprang at it with his shoulder.  It trembled and gave.  He rushed again and the door crashed inward.  The room was filling with smoke.

And on the bunk sat Virginia, her hands on her knees, her head hanging low and swaying dazedly from side to side.  She was on the verge of collapse; but she looked up and smiled faintly as Dan burst in.  Then her head fell again.

“I knew you would come,” she muttered.

Without a word Dan seized her by the arm and led her swiftly to the shattered door.  As they reached the threshold there came a dull boom from below—­the vessel shivered.  A sheet of flame swept the entire forward deck, and Dan looked out into a red, pulsing wall.

In terror the men in the fourth and last boat, the fire licking their faces, let go the falls, and the little craft struck the water with a crash, but on an even keel.

Knowing he could not reach the boat even were it still on the davits, Dan left the stateroom and half led, half carried the girl toward the stern.

The forward deck was now a seething inferno.  The foremast, a pillar of thin name, flickered like a pennon of gold until it broke in the middle and sent up a shower of sparks.  The shrouds and ratlines which went with it had barred the black heavens with ruddy lines.  From all the openings dull red clouds rolled and bellied skyward, cloud upon cloud; the funnel spouted like a blast furnace.