She was conscious of a hot, swiftly passing sense of suffocation as the thought of Olga rushed unbidden into her brain,--for an instant only,--and then came the reaction: a queer chill that raced over her body from head to foot.

What part would Olga Obosky play in the game?
The women congregated on the forward deck of the Doraine after supper that night.

The evening repast was no longer dignified by the word dinner.

The sky was inky black; not a star flickered in the vault above.
There were low, far off mutterings of thunder.

The rail lanterns,--few and far between,--threw their pallid beams down into the rippling basin in a sickly effort to penetrate the gloom.
Captain Trigger and Mr.Mott, smoking their pipes on the makeshift bridge, studied the throng of women in dour silence.
"I understand the farmers are praying for rain," remarked Mr.Mott, sniffing the air with considerable satisfaction.
"It would do no end of good," said Captain Trigger, without taking his eyes from the chattering mass below.
Mr.Codge, the purser, joined them.
"What are they waiting for ?" he asked.