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It rang in Felix Thurstan's ears like the sound of a bell. He gazed about him in dismay, wonderingwhat had happened.The first intimation he received of the accident was that sudden sharp cry from the bo'sun's mate.Almost before he had fully taken it in, in all its meaning, another voice, farther aft, took up the cryonce more in an altered form: A lady! a lady! Somebody overboard! Great heavens, it is her! It'sMiss Ellis! Miss Ellis! Next instant Felix found himself, he knew not how, struggling in a wild grapple with the dark, black water. A woman was clinging to him-clinging for dear life. But he couldn't have told youhimself that minute how it all took place. He was too stunned and dazzled.He looked around him on the seething sea in a sudden awakening, as it were, to life andconsciousness. All about, the great water stretched dark and tumultuous. White breakers surged overhim. Far ahead the steamer's lights gleamed red and green in long lines upon the ocean. At first theyran fast; then they slackened somewhat. She was surely slowing now; they must be reversing enginesand trying to stop her. They would put out a boat. But what hope, what chance of rescue by night, in such a wild waste of waves as that? And Muriel Ellis was clinging to him for dear life all the while, with the despairing clutch of a half-drowned woman!The people on the Australasian, for their part, knew better what had occurred. There was bustleand confusion enough on deck and on the captain's bridge, to be sure: Man overboard! -threesharp rings at the engine bell: - Stop her short!-reverse engines!-lower the gig!-look sharp, there, all of you! Passengers hurried up breathless at the first alarm to know what was the matter.Sailors loosened and lowered the boat from the davits with extraordinary quickness. Officers stoodby, giving orders in monosyllables with practised calm. All was hurry and turmoil, yet with amarvellous sense of order and prompt obedience as well. But, at any rate, the people on deck hadn'tthe swift swirl of the boisterous water, the hampering wet clothes, the pervading consciousness ofpersonal danger, to make their brains reel, like Felix Thurstan's. They could ask one another withcomparative composure what had happened on board; they could listen without terror to the storyof the accident.It was the thirteenth day out from Sydney, and the Australasian was rapidly nearing the equator.Toward evening the wind had freshened, and the sea was running high against her weather side. Butit was a fine starlit night, though the moon had not yet risen; and as the brief tropical twilight fadedaway by quick degrees in the west, the fringe of cocoanut palms on the reef that bounded the littleisland of Boupari showed out for a minute or two in dark relief, some miles to leeward, against thepale pink horizon. In spite of the heavy sea, many passengers lingered late on deck that night to see 4the last of that coral-girt shore, which was to be their final glimpse of land till they reachedHonolulu, en route for San Franc

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