This was more than the youth could at once perform. He had been so carried away by his own passion, that he had not foreseen the effect which his own unwelcome tidings might occasion. He now heartily wished that he had left it for others to communicate. He hesitated, looked painfully distressed, and was disconcerted at his own precipitancy.
“I know, John, by your manner, that you have something to tell me, though you seem afraid to utter it. Tell me the worst, tell me the worst!”
“Margaret, I own that I have been too abrupt. My own hopes have made me overlook the shock I know you will experience; but I had really no intention of giving you pain. The worst is, that which I have often thought would come to pass—Will Laud is dead!”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw him myself this very morning.”
“Where? where?”
“At Bawdsey Ferry.”
“How knew you it was Laud?”
“My brother saw his boat coming ashore in the gale last night, saw it driven upon the rocks inside the bar, and smashed to pieces. Laud, with three others, was cast on the shore quite dead. My brother sent me word with the morning’s light. I would not even trust to his report, so I went to Bawdsey and saw him. I then hastened to be the first to convey the intelligence to you. Forgive me, Margaret, that my selfish thoughts should have made me forget your feelings.”
“I can forgive you; but I never should forgive myself, if I did not go directly and judge from my own sight if it be really so. I have long made up my mind to hear unpleasant tidings; but I have never been without hope that something would alter him.”