"What be I to do, ma'am?" he inquired, after a pause, and then added
slowly, "Beggin' your pardon, but be you taken unwell?"

"Yes," she panted, speaking very faintly, "I was over there--by the
bulwarks, and suddenly--I felt queer--a faintness--I looked over and saw
you--I called the first person I saw. I wanted help."

William Udy was puzzled. He had not noticed any pallor in the face that
had looked down on him from the ship's side. On the contrary, he seemed
to remember that it struck him as remarkably fresh and rosy. But he saw
no reason for doubting he had been mistaken.

"Can I do aught for 'ee? Fetch a doctor?"

"If you wouldn't mind helping me down--down to my cabin--"

William took her arm gently and led her aft to the companion ladder.
At the top of it she put out a hand vaguely and closed her eyes.

"I don't think," she murmured, "that I can walk. My head is going round
so. Could you--would it be too heavy--if you carried me?"

At any other time William would have considered this a good joke.
As it was he took her up like a feather in his arms and carried her down
to the cabin. There he set her down on the sofa and was about to
withdraw, blushing. He was a very shy youth and had never carried a
woman before, let alone one who was his superior in station.

"Thank you," she said in a voice that was little above a whisper.
"How easily you carried me. It's plain to see you're a married man."