Twice she had seen Miss Clinton talking with him, and once, just before the storm set in, she had paused to watch the young American girl renew the bandages on his hands after dressing the burns.

Half an hour after he had apologized for speaking so roughly to her, she decided that it was her duty to hunt him up and minister to him.

The ship was rolling terribly, the din of the elements was deafening, but Olga Obosky was not a faint-hearted person.

She went forth boldly, confidently.

Terrified, clinging observers marvelled at her sure-footedness, at the graceful way in which her sinuous body bent itself to the perilous heavings of the vessel.
She found him in the reading-room, seated in a corner.