But here Miss Chubb, with ready tact, interrupted any possible retort from Mr. Crosby.

“Look,” she said, pointing to some of the other passengers, who, at a little distance, had grouped about the first mate in animated discussion.  “I wonder what those gentlemen are so interested about.  Do go and see.”

Before he could reply, Mr. Winslow, detaching himself from the group, hurried towards them.

“Here’s a row:  Hurlstone is missing!  Can’t be found anywhere!  They think he’s fallen overboard!”

The two frightened exclamations from Miss Chubb and Mrs. Brimmer diverted attention from the sudden paleness of Miss Keene, who had impulsively approached them.

“Impossible!” she said hurriedly.

“I fear it is so,” said Brace, who had followed Winslow; “although,” he added in a lower tone, with an angry glance at the latter, “that brute need not have blustered it out to frighten everybody.  They’re searching the ship again, but there seems no hope.  He hasn’t been seen since last night.  He was supposed to be in his state-room—­but as nobody missed him—­you know how odd and reserved he was—­it was only when the steward couldn’t find him, and began to inquire, that everybody remembered they hadn’t seen him all day.  You are frightened, Miss Keene; pray sit down.  That fellow Winslow ought to have had more sense.”

“It seems so horrible that nobody knew it,” said the young girl, shuddering; “that we sat here laughing and talking, while perhaps he was—­Good heavens! what’s that?”

A gruff order had been given:  in the bustle that ensued the ship began to fall off to leeward; a number of the crew had sprung to the davits of the quarter boat.

“We’re going about, and they’re lowering a boat, that’s all; but it’s as good as hopeless,” said Brace.  “The accident must have happened before daylight, or it would have been seen by the watch.  It was probably long before we came on deck,” he added gently; “so comfort yourself, Miss Keene, you could have seen nothing.”

“It seems so dreadful,” murmured the young girl, “that he wasn’t even missed.  Why,” she said, suddenly raising her soft eyes to Brace, “You must have noticed his absence; why, even I”—­She stopped with a slight confusion, that was, however, luckily diverted by the irrepressible Winslow.

“The skipper’s been routed out at last, and is giving orders.  He don’t look as if his hat fitted him any too comfortably this morning, does he?” he laughed, as a stout, grizzled man, with congested face and eyes, and a peremptory voice husky with alcoholic irritation, suddenly appeared among the group by the wheel.  “I reckon he’s cursing his luck at having to heave-to and lose this wind.”

“But for a human creature’s life!” exclaimed Mrs. Markham in horror.

“That’s just it.  Laying-to now ain’t going to save anybody’s life, and he knows it.  He’s doin’ it for show, just for a clean record in the log, and to satisfy you people here, who’d kick up a row if he didn’t.”