intervals of acute sensibility; and between the two her mind
vibrated.

One evening about a month after the wreck, Emily came down to her aunt's
room to say that she had been speaking about Joseph to Florry. "I was
telling her how he was detained at Calcutta, and could not be here
before the second mail from India; and her reply was, 'It is quite as
well. He will be less shocked when he sees me.'"

"Has she never asked about Calvert?" asked the old lady.

"Never. Not once. I half suspect, however, that she overheard us that
evening when we were talking of him, and wondering that he had never
been seen again. For she said afterwards, 'Do not say before me what you
desire me not to hear, for I hear frequently when I am unable to speak,
or even make a sign in reply.'"

"But it is strange that nothing should ever be known of him."

"No, aunt Carlo says several have been drowned in this lake whose bodies
have never been found. He has some sort of explanation, about deep
currents that set in amongst the rocks at the bottom, which I could not
understand."

The days dragged on as before. Miss Grainger, after some struggles
about how to accomplish the task, took courage, and wrote to Miss Sophia
Calvert, to inform her of the disastrous event which had occurred
and the loss of her cousin. The letter was, however, left without any
acknowledgment whatever, and save in some chance whisperings between
Emily and her aunt, the name of Calvert was never spoken of again.

Only a few days before Christmas a telegram told them that Loyd had
reached Trieste, and would be with them in a few days. By this time
Florence had recovered much of her strength and some of her looks. She
was glad, very glad to hear that Joseph was coming; but her joy was not
excessive. Her whole nature seemed to have been toned down by that
terrible incident to a state of calm resignation to accept whatever came
with little of joy or sorrow; to submit to rather than partake of, the
changeful fortunes of life. It was thus Loyd found her when he came,
and, to his thinking, she was more charming, more lovable than ever. The
sudden caprices, which so often had worried him, were gone, and in their
place there was a gentle tranquillity of character which suited every
trait of his own nature, and rendered her more than ever companionable
to him. Warned by her aunt and sister to avoid the topic of the storm,
he never alluded to it in any shape to Florence; but one ev