She was the first woman outside, though the wails and shrieks swelled below, and half-dressed, ghastly creatures tumbled gasping up the companion-way.

“What is it?” she heard.  “My God! what’s happened?  Where’s the Captain!  Are we going down!  The boats!  The boats!”

It was useless to speak to the seamen rushing by.  They did not see, much less hear!  She caught sight of a man who could not be a sailor, since he was standing still.  She made her way to him, thankful that she had managed to stop her teeth chattering.

“What has happened to us?” she said.

He turned and looked at her straitly.  He was the second-cabin passenger with the red hair.

“A tramp steamer has run into us in the fog,” he answered.

“How much harm is done?”

“They are trying to find out.  I am standing here on the chance of hearing something.  It is madness to ask any man questions.”

They spoke to each other in short, sharp sentences, knowing there was no time to lose.

“Are you horribly frightened?” he asked.

She stamped her foot.

“I hate it—­I hate it!” she said, flinging out her hand towards the black, heaving water.  “The plunge—­the choking!  No one could hate it more.  But I want to do something!”

She was turning away when he caught her hand and held her.

“Wait a second,” he said.  “I hate it as much as you do, but I believe we two can keep our heads.  Those who can do that may help, perhaps.  Let us try to quiet the people.  As soon as I find out anything I will come to your friends’ stateroom.  You are near the boats there.  Then I shall go back to the second cabin.  You work on your side and I’ll work on mine.  That’s all.”

“Thank you.  Tell the Worthingtons.  I’m going to the saloon deck.”  She was off as she spoke.

Upon the stairway she found herself in the midst of a struggling panic-stricken mob, tripping over each other on the steps, and clutching at any garment nearest, to drag themselves up as they fell, or were on the point of falling.  Everyone was crying out in question and appeal.

Bettina stood still, a firm, tall obstacle, and clutched at the hysteric woman who was hurled against her.

“I’ve been on deck,” she said.  “A tramp steamer has run into us.  No one has time to answer questions.  The first thing to do is to put on warm clothes and secure the life belts in case you need them.”

At once everyone turned upon her as if she was an authority.  She replied with almost fierce determination to the torrent of words poured forth.

“I know nothing further—­only that if one is not a fool one must make sure of clothes and belts.”

“Quite right, Miss Vanderpoel,” said one young man, touching his cap in nervous propitiation.

“Stop screaming,” Betty said mercilessly to the woman.  “It’s idiotic—­the more noise you make the less chance you have.  How can men keep their wits among a mob of shrieking, mad women?”