Turning over another sheet, she came on a copy of the English "Times."
"Days old! Quite ancient! The very morning we left. I remember—the papers were late that day, and I did not see them before we started."
Jean skimmed column after column, to pass the time: her brain still busy in its back regions with Cyril.
"They will soon reach home now, if they really are off in the 'Spanish Gipsy.' A few weeks, I suppose—six or seven. Not likely that they should change, after once making up their minds; unless that story were true. But I will not believe it, until I know. If we should hear that they have actually started, then I shall be sure it is false. Cyril would never think of such a voyage—without need—if he were just engaged. My father could as well come home alone . . . The only thing is that fancy for Emmie Lucas! Otherwise I could laugh at the tale. Well—Emmie is heart-whole! That is one comfort. No harm done there."
Jean had an abrupt singular consciousness of receiving a blow. It might almost have been an actual physical blow, judged by sensation. Thought was scattered; and a grey haze descended on all around, coming like the fall of dusk. She sat motionless, gazing at the paper; hardly feeling; certainly not reasoning. The heavy blow came first, numbing her faculties, before the actual sense of those terrible words seemed to reach her understanding.
"LOSS OF THE 'SPANISH GIPSY!'"
The haze grew blacker, then partly cleared: and Jean read on:
"LOSS OF THE 'SPANISH GIPSY,' WITH ALL ON BOARD."
Not one saved! So much was clear. Jean's mind refused to grasp any further particulars. She was dazed with the shock, and could only watch fixedly, like a fascinated creature, the convolutions of the neat black letter-press, which took strange forms before her eyes, one shape dissolving into another, after the mode of kaleidoscope figures. Then she was far away from Rouen, out in the open sea; and great waves arose, dashing wildly; and there were men, struggling, sinking—and Cyril's face, a blanched dead face, below the cruel breakers.
"I hope nothing is wrong, Miss Trevelyan! No ill news?"