All this while Morris sat at his bedside wondering who he might be, and what curious circumstance could have brought him into the company of these rough Northmen sailors.

To his profession he had a clue, although no sure one, for round his neck the man wore a silver cross suspended by a chain.

This suggested that he might be a clergyman, and went far to confirm the broken talk of the French-speaking sailor.

Clearly, also, he was a person of some breeding and position, the refinement of his face and the delicacy of his hands showed as much.

While Morris was watching and wondering, suddenly the man awoke, and began to talk in a confused fashion.
"Where am I ?" he asked.
"At Monksland," answered Morris.
"That's all right, that's where I should be, but the ship, the ship"-- then a pause and a cry: "Stella, Stella!" Morris pricked his ears.