I thought of all this, and of HER everlasting quiet.
With a different voice the words of the song would have sent me out of hearing; now I stood rooted to the spot, as the notes floated out past me to the nervelessness of the Indian Ocean, every one of them a commandment from behind the curtain of a sanctuary.
The voice was a warm, full contralto of exquisite culture.

It suggested depths of rich sound behind, from which the singer, if she chose, might draw, until the room and the deck and the sea ached with sweetness.

I scarcely dared to look in to see who it was, lest I should find it a dream.

I stood with my head turned away towards the dusky ocean.

When, at last, with the closing notes of the song, I went to the port-hole and looked in, I saw that the singer was Miss Treherne.