Alan faced his cabin door. He knew what had happened.
Someone was overboard. And in this moment all
life and strength were gone out of his body, for the
pale face of Mary Standish seemed to rise for an instant
before him, and in her quiet voice she was telling
him again that this was the other way. His
face went white as he caught up his smoking-gown,
flung open his door, and ran down the dimly lighted
corridor.
CHAPTER IX
The reversing of the engines had not stopped the momentum
of the ship when Alan reached the open deck.
She was fighting, but still swept slowly ahead against
the force struggling to hold her back. He heard
running feet, voices, and the rattle of davit blocks,
and came up as the starboard boat aft began swinging
over the smooth sea. Captain Rifle was ahead
of him, half-dressed, and the second officer was giving
swift commands. A dozen passengers had come from
the smoking-room. There was only one woman.
She stood a little back, partly supported in a man’s
arms, her face buried in her hands. Alan looked
at the man, and he knew from his appearance that she
was the woman who had screamed.
He heard the splash of the boat as it struck water,
and the rattle of oars, but the sound seemed a long
distance away. Only one thing came to him distinctly
in the sudden sickness that gripped him, and that was
the terrible sobbing of the woman. He went to
them, and the deck seemed to sway under his feet.
He was conscious of a crowd gathering about the empty
davits, but he had eyes only for these two.
“Was it a man—or a woman?”
he asked.
It did not seem to him it was his voice speaking.
The words were forced from his lips. And the
other man, with the woman’s head crumpled against
his shoulder, looked into a face as emotionless as
stone.
“A woman,” he replied. “This
is my wife. We were sitting here when she climbed
upon the rail and leaped in. My wife screamed
when she saw her going.”
The woman raised her head. She was still sobbing,
with no tears in her eyes, but only horror. Her
hands were clenched about her husband’s arm.
She struggled to speak and failed, and the man bowed
his head to comfort her. And then Captain Rifle
stood at their side. His face was haggard, and
a glance told Alan that he knew.
“Who was it?” he demanded.
“This lady thinks it was Miss Standish.”
Alan did not move or speak. Something seemed
to have gone wrong for a moment in his head.
He could not hear distinctly the excitement behind
him, and before him things were a blur. The sensation
came and passed swiftly, with no sign of it in the
immobility of his pale face.
“Yes, the girl at your table. The pretty
girl. I saw her clearly, and then—then—”
It was the woman. The captain broke in, as she
caught herself with a choking breath:
“It is possible you are mistaken. I can
not believe Miss Standish would do that. We shall
soon know. Two boats are gone, and a third lowering.”
He was hurrying away, throwing the last words over
his shoulder.
