"No."
"Or accident?"
Jem rose, with an involuntary motion, and turned away. He could not endure to bring sorrow to her. To bring sorrow to any one was great pain; but this was heartrending.
She only believed him to be overcome by the greatness of whatever calamity had befallen them. The tie between him and either her brother or Jean's father was not of so close a nature that she would have expected intense distress on his part! Yet intense distress was written on every line of his face.
It surprised Evelyn a little; though, of course, he would feel acutely for Jean—so kind and sympathetic as he was known to be, even while she individually had found him somewhat cold. All this passed in a flash through Evelyn's mind, together with countless conjectures. She too rose, and went to the door, which she quietly bolted. Then coming to Jem, in the bow-window, she scanned him earnestly with eyes more widely open than usual under the shock of sudden fear, trying to read in his look what he would not or could not say.
"You will not keep me in suspense," she repeated. "See—I can bear it. Nothing can be worse than what I am fancying now. No small matter would touch you like this! Is it the very worst?"
She laid a hand on Jem's arm, not dreaming how her light touch shook the very being of the man. "Is it—? I am waiting to know."
"The 'Spanish Gipsy'—" and a break—"has gone down—with all on board."
"None saved!"
"Not one."