“There is life still,” said he, gravely.
“I knew it,” said Frank. But it felled him to the ground. He sank first in prayer, and then in insensibility. The doctor did everything. All that night long he passed to and fro from house to house; for several had swum to Llandudno. Others, it was thought, had gone to Abergele.
In the morning Frank was recovered enough to write to his father, by Maggie’s bedside. He sent the letter off to Conway by a little bright-looking Welsh boy. Late in the afternoon she awoke.
In a moment or two she looked eagerly round her, as if gathering in her breath; and then she covered her head and sobbed.
“Where is Edward?” asked she.
“We do not know,” said Frank, gravely. “I have been round the village, and seen every survivor here; he is not among them, but he may be at some other place along the coast.”
She was silent, reading in his eyes his fears—his belief.
At last she asked again.
“I cannot understand it. My head is not clear. There are such rushing noises in it. How came you there?” She shuddered involuntarily as she recalled the terrible where.
For an instant he dreaded, for her sake, to recall the circumstances of the night before; but then he understood how her mind would dwell upon them until she was satisfied.