“Is my son with you? Have you seen my son—Ralph Percival?”
Mrs Percival spoke in a high, clear voice, at the sound of which a young undergrad. wheeled round quickly towards his companions.
“By Jove—yes! He was on board. I thought we were all here. Where’s Percival?”
He dashed out of the tent, stood looking blankly around, turned a blanched face towards the tent.
Then from an inner corner of the tent another voice questioned sharply: “Mary! Where’s Mary—Mary Everard? She was with us—standing quite near. Mary’s not here!”
No one answered. There was a breathless silence, while each man and woman in that crowded tent was subtly, overpoweringly conscious of a new presence filling the atmosphere around—the presence of Fear! Heavy as a palpable presence it pressed upon them; it lapped them round; the fumes of it mounted to their brains.
Months before, Darsie had listened while a woman who had been near San Francisco at the time of the earthquake and fire endeavoured to describe what was in truth indescribable, how the very air itself was at that time charged with a poignancy of agony—an impalpable spiritual agony, apart from such physical cause as heat and fire, an agony which arose from the grief of thousands of tortured hearts.
She had listened—interested, curious, pleased to nestle in her easy-chair, and ponder over a novel thought; but at this terrible moment she had no need to ponder; realisation came sharp and sure. Tragedy was in the air; she inhaled it with every breath, tasted it, felt its heavy hand.
With one accord the occupants of the tent streamed across the lawns towards the waterside, where even now an informal inquiry was taking place. The officials in charge of the ferry-boat were defending themselves against their accusers. Overcrowded? The ferry-boat had been as crowded on two previous days, and all had gone well. It was impossible to account for the accident. Since no further harm than a few minutes’ ducking had happened to the passengers, the greater loss was on their own side.
To these officials, protesting, excusing, arrived in a mass a body of white-faced men and women, demanding with one voice their lost—a young man, an undergraduate; tall, fair, in a white flannel suit; last seen standing on the side of the boat helping to lower the women into the water; a young girl, in a boating-dress of blue and white. They were not among the rescued. They had not been seen since the moment of the accident.