'
'Well, there is nothing more to say until you have had a consultation
with your friend. Good-morning, Mr. Kenyon;' and with that Longworth
arose and lounged off to the smoking-room.
Kenyon waited where he was for some time, hoping Wentworth would come
along, but the young man did not appear. At last he went in search of
him. He passed along the deck, but found no trace of his friend, and
looked for a moment into the smoking-room, but Wentworth was not there.
He went downstairs to the saloon, but his search below was equally
fruitless. Coming up on deck again, he saw Miss Brewster sitting alone
reading a paper-covered novel.
'Have you seen my friend Wentworth?' he asked.
She laid the book open-faced upon her lap, and looked quickly up at
Kenyon before answering.
'I saw him not so very long ago, but I don't know where he is now.
Perhaps you will find him in his state-room; in fact, I think it more
than likely that he is there.'
With that, Miss Brewster resumed her book.
Kenyon descended to the state-room, opened the door, and saw his comrade
sitting upon the plush-covered sofa, with his head in his hands. At the
opening of the door, Wentworth started and looked for a moment at his
friend, apparently not seeing him. His face was so gray and ghastly that
Kenyon leaned against the door for support as he saw it.
'My God, George!' he cried, 'what is the matter with you? What has
happened? Tell me!'
Wentworth gazed in front of him with glassy eyes for a moment, but did
not answer.
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