The steamer’s course had been slightly altered in the night

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Corsican and I could no longer doubt but that it was Ellen, Fabian’s betrothed, and Harry Drake’s wife. Chance had brought all three together on the same ship. Fabian had not recognized her, although he had cried, “It is she, it is she!” and how was it possible that he could have done so? But he was not mistaken in saying, “A mad woman!” Ellen was mad, undoubtedly; grief, despair, love frozen in her heart, contact with the worthless man who had snatched her from Fabian, ruin, misery, and shame had broken her spirit. It was on this subject that Corsican and I spoke the following morning. We had no doubt as to the identity of the young woman; it was Ellen, whom Harry Drake was dragging with him to the American continent. The Captain’s eyes glowed with a dark fire at the thought of this wretch, and I felt my heart stir within me. What were we against the husband, the master? Nothing. But now, what was most important, was to prevent another meeting between Fabian and Ellen, for Fabian 10could not fail at last to recognize his betrothed, and thus the catastrophe we wished to avoid would be brought about. At the same time we had reason to hope that these two poor creatures would not see each other again, as the unhappy Ellen never appeared in the daytime, either in the saloons or on the deck. Only at night, perhaps eluding her gaoler, she came out to bathe herself in the damp air, and demand of the wind a smooth passage. In four days, at the latest, the “Great Eastern” must reach New York harbour; therefore we might hope that accident would not dally with our watchfulness, and that Fabian would not discover Ellen during this time; but we made our calculations without thinking of events.