"Where did he sink," cried Sam, "did any one see."
Emma pointed out, as well as she could, the spot where he had disappeared, and watched, with breathless anxiety, whilst the two swam round and round, and dived again and again. His hat was floating on the water at a little distance; but no sign or trace of him appeared. One of the party had summoned the boatmen, who, after much delay brought drags and hooks, and having succeeded in righting the boat, they did their utmost to discover the missing man; but they did not seem to have much expectation of success; they said they knew it was a dangerous part of the bank; that there was a deep hole just thereabouts, into which the gentleman had probably sunk, and that many years ago, a similar accident having happened, had occasioned the former owner of the place, to forbid boating there at all. But his son had, for some years, allowed it, though they should not wonder if he were to shut it up now from the public.
Their conjectures on the subject might have lasted a long time before any one interrupted them, for the whole party were too horror-stricken to speak. The dripping and the dry alike stood together in motionless excitement, or intense anxiety, watching the result of their efforts. It seemed impossible, that one but lately so full of life and spirit, one of themselves—one who had for so long a time belonged to them, could have thus suddenly disappeared without warning, and have left no vestige behind. It was too horrible—to perish before their eyes, and from so trivial a cause. For many minutes, the extremity of their feeling was shown by their total silence; then, when the conviction was forced on them, that he was really lost, hysterical sobs and screams were heard, especially from the two girls, who had been the immediate cause of the accident, and who, shocked at their own share of the misfortune, shivering with cold, convulsed with horror, and in every way overcome, now demanded the attention of such of the party, as had any sense or self-possession left.
Fortunately the carriages were at this moment announced, and the only possible thing to do, as they were far from all assistance, was for the sufferers to be wrapped in such cloaks as could be found amongst them, and conveyed back to Croydon as speedily as possible.
Neither George nor Sam would consent to leave the place, whilst a shadow of a hope remained that the body might be recovered, but they insisted that their sisters should return home at once, as they proposed, when all was over, if the search was unsuccessful, to walk to a public-house on the outskirts of the Park, and dry themselves there, before returning to Croydon. Emma had the presence of mind to propose that a carriage and a supply of dry clothes should be despatched there to meet them, by the first of the party that arrived at home.
Under the escort of Miss Bridge's manservant, instead of Sam, Elizabeth, Emma, Annie, and Miss Hall, returned in the vehicle which had borne them so gaily and light-hearted to the Park. But little conversation passed, and the few words which were said, had no reference to the fatal event; it was too recent and too shocking to speak of. To Emma, indeed, after what had so lately passed between them, the circumstance seemed beyond description or imagination terrible. The angry feelings with which they had parted, the malevolence he had expressed, and the evident state of half-intoxication, to which he had perhaps resorted to drown his disappointed feelings, and conceal his chagrin and mortification, all seemed to rise up, as if to reproach her conscience. Why had she been so scornful and so bitter; perhaps, had she answered more mildly, had she shown less contempt and more compassion, he might still have been alive, all this might not have happened. It appeared like a horrid dream altogether, their angry dispute—Sam's indignation, and her fears for him, and finally, Mr. Morgan's sudden disappearance, all had passed so rapidly, that she could scarcely feel it a reality.
One thing she was resolved—she would never join a large, mixed pleasure-party again; it was impossible that real satisfaction could be found in such society, and so far as her experience went, they seemed always nothing but preludes to some heavy misfortune. It was a relief to her to find herself once more at home in the Rectory at Croydon, alone in her apartment, able to think without distraction, rest without interruption, and cry without observation.
She was so completely worn out, that to sit down and indulge in a very hearty flood of tears was the greatest relief imaginable.
Sam called at the Rectory on his return to the town, and saw her for a few minutes. It was dark and the candles were not lighted, so she had ventured down stairs to meet him.
"Any news?" enquired Mr. Bridge.