Do you?"
"No."
"You have not told me your name yet. Mine is Marion Nugent; and yours--"
"Is not so pretty a one--Rhoda Steele."
There was something in the tone of these replies that quelled the
invalid's disposition to talk, and she remained silent while her companion
finished her arrangements and prepared to take possession of her berth. It
was time that she did so. The threatened gale was by this time blowing in
earnest, and the ship was commencing to roll fearfully; so, after securing
all the boxes and bags as well as possible, and hanging up all the
scattered garments, she made a hasty retreat to her couch, and lay there
only half undressed, but utterly prostrate, and as unable to touch the tea
and biscuits brought by the attentive stewardess as was her more delicate
and suffering room-mate.
Time passed on: the daylight faded from the sky, a feeble glimmering lamp
shed its faint rays into the state-room, and the great steamship went
steadily on, though rocked and tossed like a plaything by the whistling
winds and angry sea. Then midnight came: the lights in the state-rooms
were extinguished and a profound silence reigned throughout the cabins,
broken only by the ceaseless throb of the mighty engines and the noisy
clanking of the screw.
The state-room was wrapped in profound darkness when Rhoda Steele awoke
with a start as from some troubled dream.
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