“Any fool can see that,” retorted her mistress, and the ungainly maid staggered out on her mission.
Later on, supplied with a roll of gauze, Madame Obosky set out in quest of her preserver. Even the veterans among the seamen gazed upon her in wondering admiration as she made her way about the ship. She was a revelation to them. The increasing fury of the storm had driven all save the hardiest sailors and a few of the non-praying male passengers to their rooms. Now and then one or two of the courageous, devoted nurses appeared in the corridors, reeling from patient to patient, but except for them the ship seemed entirely bereft of women. Small wonder then that the lithe, undaunted Russian created a sensation among the sailors who themselves were cold with dread.
She discovered him at last, coming up the steps from the devastated engine room. He was with Mr. Mott and several other half-dressed men. Their faces were grave,--more serious than ever. They had been down to investigate the leak. Percival was stripped to the waist. The glare of the lanterns fell upon his broad shoulders and powerful arms, bronzed and burnished by the sun of the high hills.
“Come,” she said, laying her hand on one of his brawny arms, “I have with me the bandages.” She sent a swift glance over him, and smiled. “But I see you have not the bottle. Is it in your cabin, Mr. Percivail?”
He flushed darkly under his coat of tan. His companions stared for a moment, and then went on.
“I am busy,” he said. “I haven't the time now, Madame Obosky. Thank you, just the same.” Then a sense of loyalty to the girl who had been kind to him impelled him to add: “Besides, Miss Clinton has been taking care of my hands. She has got used to dressing them, so I--”
“But it is my duty now,” she protested. “She owes so little to you and I so much. Come, let us procure the lotion. Where is your cabin?”
He held back. “You can't go to my cabin.”
“And why not?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “Does not Miss Clinton go to your cabin?”
“But she goes to the cabins of other men who are wounded. I have see her with my own eyes.”
“That's different. They can't come to her.”
“I see,” she said after a moment. “You are in love with her.”
“And so you prefer to have her fix your hands. I see, my friend. Voila! If so is the case, I am outcast.”