Claudia read aloud the paragraph that had alarmed her:
"The 'Oceana' is now several days overdue. Serious apprehensions are entertained for her safety."
"Do not be alarmed, my dear. At this season of the year the steamers are frequently delayed beyond their usual time of arrival," said the countess, with a cheerfulness that she was very far from really feeling.
"But if there should have been an accident!"
"My dear, that line of steamers has never had an accident. And their good fortune is not the effect of luck, but of the great care bestowed by the company and its officers upon the safety of those who trust to them their lives and goods. Reassure yourself, Claudia."
But that was easier said than done. Three or four more of anxious days and nights passed, during which Claudia watched the papers for the arrival of the ocean steamers; but all in vain, until the Saturday morning of that week, when, as usual, she opened the "Times" and turned to the telegraphic column.
She could scarcely repress the cry of anguish that arose to her lips on reading the following:
"Arrival of the ocean steamers. The screw propeller 'Superior,' with
New York mails of the 15th, has reached Queenstown. On the Banks of
Newfoundland she passed the wreck of a large steamer, supposed to be
the 'Oceana.'"
"Oh, Berenice! Oh, Berenice! Can this be true? Oh! Speak a word of hope or comfort to me!" cried Claudia, wringing her hands in the extremity of mental agony.
"My dear, let us still hope for the best. There is no certainty that it is the wreck of the 'Oceana.' There is no certainty that the 'Oceana' is wrecked at all. She is delayed; that is all which is known. And that is often the case with the ocean steamers at this season of the year, as I told you before," said the countess, trying to inspire Claudia with a hope that she herself scarcely dared to indulge.