ship was deserted.  Stepping to the rail, he observed how low the Nebraska lay and also that her bow was higher than her stern.  From somewhere beneath his feet came a muffled grinding and a movement which told him that the ship was seeking a more comfortable berth.  He recalled stories of explosions and of the boiling eddies which sometimes accompany sinking hulls.  Turning, he scrambled up to the cabin-deck and ran swiftly toward his stateroom.

II

HOW A GIRL APPEARED OUT OF THE NIGHT

O’Neil felt for the little bracket-lamp on the wall of his stateroom and lit it.  By its light he dragged a life-preserver from the rack overhead and slipped the tapes about his shoulders, reflecting that Alaskan waters are disagreeably cold.  Then he opened his traveling-bags and dumped their contents upon the white counterpane of his berth, selecting out of the confusion certain documents and trinkets.  The latter he thrust into his pockets as he found them, the former he wrapped in handkerchiefs before stowing them away.  The ship had listed now so that it was difficult to maintain a footing; the lamp hung at a grotesque angle and certain articles had become dislodged from their resting-places.  From outside came the gentle lapping of waters, a gurgling and hissing as of air escaping through the decks.  He could feel the ship strain.  He acknowledged that it was not pleasant thus to be left alone on a sinking hulk, particularly on an ink-black night—­

All at once he whirled and faced the door with an exclamation of astonishment, for a voice had addressed him.

There,—­clinging to the casing, stood a woman—­a girl—­evidently drawn out of the darkness by the light which streamed down across the sloping deck from his stateroom.  Plainly she had but just awakened, for she was clothed in a silken nightrobe which failed to conceal the outlines of her body, the swelling contour of her bosom, the ripened fullness of her limbs.  She had flung a quilted dressing-gown of some sort over her shoulders and with one bare arm and hand strove to hold it in place.  He saw that her pink feet were thrust into soft, heeless slippers—­that her hair, black in this light, cascaded down to her waist, and that her eyes, which were very dark and very large, were fixed upon him with a stare like that of a sleep-walker.

“It is so dark—­so strange—­so still!” she murmured.  “What has happened?”

“God!  Didn’t they waken you?” he cried in sharp surprise.

“Is the ship-sinking?” Her odd bewilderment of voice and gaze puzzled him.

He nodded.  “We struck a rock.  The passengers have been taken off.  We’re the only ones left.  In Heaven’s name where have you been?”

“I was asleep.”

He shook his head in astonishment.  “How you failed to hear that hubbub—­”

“I heard something, but I was ill.  My head—­I took something to ease the pain.”