The words were forced
from his lips. And the other man, with the woman's head crumpled against
his shoulder, looked into a face as emotionless as stone.
"A woman," he replied. "This is my wife. We were sitting here when she
climbed upon the rail and leaped in. My wife screamed when she saw
her going."
The woman raised her head. She was still sobbing, with no tears in her
eyes, but only horror. Her hands were clenched about her husband's arm.
She struggled to speak and failed, and the man bowed his head to comfort
her. And then Captain Rifle stood at their side. His face was haggard,
and a glance told Alan that he knew.
"Who was it?" he demanded.
"This lady thinks it was Miss Standish."
Alan did not move or speak. Something seemed to have gone wrong for a
moment in his head. He could not hear distinctly the excitement behind
him, and before him things were a blur. The sensation came and passed
swiftly, with no sign of it in the immobility of his pale face.
"Yes, the girl at your table. The pretty girl. I saw her clearly, and
then--then--"
It was the woman. The captain broke in, as she caught herself with a
choking breath:
"It is possible you are mistaken. I can not believe Miss Standish would
do that. We shall soon know. Two boats are gone, and a third lowering.
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