"There was his duty to the
living," she said indignantly.
"Ah, forgive me--what a fool I am!" Jean Jacques said repentantly at
once. "There was his little girl, his beloved child, his Carmen Dolores,
so beautiful, with the voice like a flute, and--"
He drew nearer to her, his hand was outstretched to take hers; his eyes
were full of the passion of the moment; pity was drowning all caution,
all the Norman shrewdness in him, when the Antoine suddenly stopped
almost dead with a sudden jolt and shock, then plunged sideways, jerked,
and trembled.
"We've struck a sunk iceberg--the rest of the story to-morrow, Senorita,"
he cried, as they both sprang to their feet.
"The rest of the story to-morrow," she repeated, angry at the stroke of
fate which had so interrupted the course of her fortune. She said it with
a voice also charged with fear; for she was by nature a landfarer, not a
sea-farer, though on the rivers of Spain she had lived almost as much as
on land, and she was a good swimmer.
"The rest to-morrow," she repeated, controlling herself.
CHAPTER III
"TO-MORROW"
The rest came to-morrow. When the Antoine struck the sunken iceberg she
was not more than one hundred and twenty miles from the coast of Gaspe.
She had not struck it full on, or she would have crumpled up, but had
struck and glanced, mounting the berg, and sliding away with a small
gaping wound in her side, broken internally where she had been weakest.
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