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 come over Lake Superior; Ellen knew what that meant!

The men on the mast could not be seen to move, except one who kept his arms free and seemed to be beating at his comrades, in their lashings, to arouse them. It was clear weather—clear except for the spray flying before the gale. The wind, for all the prayers—and in the little church at Brebeuf, there was constant praying—did not diminish.

The Gilbert Ramsay, convinced of the utter hopelessness of giving aid, had gone on, but the Donagon and Loring and two other steamers, tossing far out in deep water, did not desert the dying men on the mast. The ships could do nothing but at least they could stand by. The crowd on the shore could do nothing but light fires for the freezing men, on the mast, to see.

Ellen read and, reading, she saw it as none of the others, stopping to spread and read, could see. Tightness drew in her throat so that it hurt her. She bundled the newspaper under her arm. What was this big envelope? Oh, yes; for Mr. Alban—Lew Alban who had sent for her.

She stepped to the curb and entered a cab, for she was shaking so; she gave Lew's address, after a moment's thought, for she had forgotten it.

Lew saw her pay off the cab. He lived on the third floor and he had been watching from the window, and the sight of her, even on the walk, pleased him. She hadn't the clothes and furs of other girls but she had a trimness, a slenderness and delicacy unmistakable and appreciated by Lew three floors up. He was very glad that just now he had put off Slengel again.

He opened his door for her, and when he had closed