‘Twas a long doubt; we never heard
Exactly how the ship went down.—ARCHER GURNEY.
The tidings came at last, came when the heart-sickness of hope deferred had faded into the worse heart-sickness of fear deferred, and when spirits had been fain to rebel, and declare that they would be almost glad to part with the hope that but kept alive despair.
The Christmas holidays had come to an end, and the home party were again alone, when early in the forenoon, there was a tap at the drawing-room door, and Dr. Spencer called, “Ethel, can you come and speak to me?”
Margaret started as if those gentle tones had been a thunderclap. “Go! go, Ethel,” she said, “don’t keep me waiting.”
Dr. Spencer stood in the hall with a newspaper in his hand. Ethel said, “Is it?” and he made a sorrowful gesture. “Both?” she asked.
“Both,” he repeated. “The ship burned—the boat lost.”
“Ethel, come!” hoarsely called Margaret.
“Take it,” said Dr. Spencer, putting the paper into her hand; “I will wait.”
She obeyed. She could not speak, but kneeling down by her sister, they read the paragraph together; Ethel, with one eye on the words, the other on Margaret.
No doubt was left. Captain Gordon had returned, and this was his official report. The names of the missing stood below, and the list began thus:—