“The English public will never understand Ibsen,” the newcomer said, reflectively, with the omniscient air of the Indian civilian.  “He is too purely Scandinavian.  He represents that part of the Continental mind which is farthest removed from the English temperament.  To him, respectability—­our god—­is not only no fetish, it is the unspeakable thing, the Moabitish abomination.  He will not bow down to the golden image which our British Nebuchadnezzar, King Demos, has made, and which he asks us to worship.  And the British Nebuchadnezzar will never get beyond the worship of his Vishnu, respectability, the deity of the pure and blameless ratepayer.  So Ibsen must always remain a sealed book to the vast majority of the English people.”

“That is true,” Hilda answered, “as to his direct influence; but don’t you think, indirectly, he is leavening England?  A man so wholly out of tune with the prevailing note of English life could only affect it, of course, by means of disciples and popularisers—­ often even popularisers who but dimly and distantly apprehend his meaning.  He must be interpreted to the English by English intermediaries, half Philistine themselves, who speak his language ill, and who miss the greater part of his message.  Yet only by such half-hints—­ Why, what was that?  I think I saw something!”

Even as she uttered the words, a terrible jar ran fiercely through the ship from stem to stern—­a jar that made one clench one’s teeth and hold one’s jaws tight—­the jar of a prow that shattered against a rock.  I took it all in at a glance.  We had forgotten Ushant, but Ushant had not forgotten us.  It had revenged itself upon us by revealing its existence.

In a moment all was turmoil and confusion on deck.  I cannot describe the scene that followed.  Sailors rushed to and fro, unfastening ropes and lowering boats, with admirable discipline.  Women shrieked and cried aloud in helpless terror.  The voice of the first officer could be heard above the din, endeavouring to atone by courage and coolness in the actual disaster for his recklessness in causing it.  Passengers rushed on deck half clad, and waited for their turn to take places in the boats.  It was a time of terror, turmoil, and hubbub.  But, in the midst of it all, Hilda turned to me with infinite calm in her voice.  “Where is Sebastian?” she asked, in a perfectly collected tone.  “Whatever happens, we must not lose sight of him.”

“I am here,” another voice, equally calm, responded beside her.  “You are a brave woman.  Whether I sink or swim, I admire your courage, your steadfastness of purpose.”  It was the only time he had addressed a word to her during the entire voyage.

They put the women and children into the first boats lowered.  Mothers and little ones went first; single women and widows after.  “Now, Miss Wade,” the first officer said, taking her gently by the shoulders when her turn arrived.  “Make haste; don’t keep us waiting!”