CHAPTER VII. SUNDERED HEARTS
There was a tap at the door. Sam sat up dizzily. He had lost all count of time.
"Who's that?"
"I have a note for you, sir."
It was the level voice of J. B. Midgeley, the steward. The stewards of the White Star Line, besides being the civillest and most obliging body of men in the world, all have soft and pleasant voices. A White Star steward, waking you up at six-thirty, to tell you that your bath is ready, when you wanted to sleep on till twelve, is the nearest human approach to the nightingale.
"A what?"
"A note, sir."
Sam jumped up and switched on the light. He went to the door and took the note from J. B. Midgeley, who, his mission accomplished, retired in an orderly manner down the passage. Sam looked at the letter with a thrill. He had never seen
