"Oh, what was that?" Mrs. Orban cried, and the question ran from mouth to mouth.
"The ship," answered a solemn voice with a break in it; "she's gone under, poor thing. Must have been ripped from bows to stern."
The silence that followed was dreadful. How many boats had got away? Who was left on board? There was not one in the boat who had not a thought of agonized pity for the poor souls left behind.
It was so unexpected; every one was so unprepared. Who could suppose that with a sea as calm as a mill-pond a great vessel could strike on a rock and sink in less than seven minutes?
Afterwards, when the matter came to be investigated, it was discovered that the Cora had run on to a coral reef unmarked in the charts. Coral reefs form with extraordinary rapidity, and are infinitely dangerous, because they are so sharp as to cut like razors. The loss of the Cora was no one's fault; but that fact was of but little comfort to those whose friends went down in her.
The boat pulled steadily on awhile, then paused, for no one could be certain where she lay as regarded the shore.
"Easy, mates," said the man in command. "We must hang about till there's a gleam of light to give us our bearings, or we shall go down like that poor thing over there."
In the hush that fell it was possible to hear each other speak. People began to question who was in the boat with them.
"Eustace, Nesta, Peter, are you there?" cried Mrs. Orban.
"Yes, mother; yes, mother," she heard, and her heart bounded with thankfulness.