Ellen went away to her state-room and sat down on the sofa opposite Lottie, and she lost herself in a muse in which she was found by the voice of the sufferer in the berth.

“If you haven’t got anything better to do than come in here and stare at me, I wish you would go somewhere else and stare.  I can tell you it isn’t any joke.”

“I didn’t know I was staring at you,” said Ellen, humbly.

“It would be enough to have you rising and sinking there, without your staring at all:  If you’re going to stay, I wish you’d lie down.  I don’t see why you’re so well, anyway, after getting us all to come on this wild-goose chase.”

“I know, I know,” Ellen strickenly deprecated.  “But I’m not going to stay.  I jest came for my things.”

“Is that giggling simpleton sick?  I hope he is!”

“Mr. Breckon?” Ellen asked, though she knew whom Lottie meant.  “No, he isn’t sick.  He was at lunch.”

“Was poppa?”

“He was at breakfast.”

“And momma?”

“She and Boyne are both in bed.  I don’t know whether they’re very sick.”

“Well, then, I’ll just tell you what, Ellen Kenton!” Lottie sat up in accusal.  “You were staring at something he said; and the first thing we all know it will be another case of Bittridge!” Ellen winced, but Lottie had no pity.  “You don’t know it, because you don’t know anything, and I’m not blaming you; but if you let that simpleton—­I don’t care if he is a minister!—­go ’round with you when your family are all sick abed, you’ll be having the whole ship to look after you.”

“Be still, Lottie!” cried Ellen.  “You are awful,” and, with a flaming face, she escaped from the state-room.

She did not know where else to go, and she beat along the sides of the corridor as far as the dining-saloon.  She had a dim notion of trying to go up into the music-room above, but a glance at the reeling steep of the stairs forbade.  With her wraps on her arm and her sea-cap in her hand, she stood clinging to the rail-post.

Breckon came out of the saloon.  “Oh, Miss Kenton,” he humbly entreated, “don’t try to go on deck!  It’s rougher than ever.”

“I was going to the music-room,” she faltered.

“Let me help you, then,” he said again.  They mounted the gangway-steps, but this time with his hand under her elbow, and his arm alert as before in a suspended embrace against her falling.

She had lost the initiative of her earlier adventure; she could only submit herself to his guidance.  But he almost outdid her in meekness, when he got her safely placed in a corner whence she could not be easily flung upon the floor.  “You must have found it very stuffy below; but, indeed, you’d better not try going out.”

“Do you think it isn’t safe here?” she asked.

“Oh yes.  As long as you keep quiet.  May I get you something to read?  They seem to have a pretty good little library.”