She looked displeased.

"Justine has hurt herself," she said.

"Please attend to her; I am going on deck." The unfeeling nature of this remark held me to the spot for a moment; then I entered the cabin.

Justine Caron, a delicate but warm-faced girl of little more than twenty, was sitting on the cabin sofa, her head supported against the wall, and her hand wound in a handkerchief soaked in blood.

Her dress and the floor were also stained.