teries, gazing ever before her until the night fell and she could
see no more.

September had passed. The sorrowing wife took scarcely any
nourishment, and could no longer sleep.

She remained at home now, crouching low with her hands between her
knees, her head thrown back and resting against the wall behind. What
was the good of getting up or going to bed now? When she was
thoroughly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon her bed.
Otherwise she remained in the same position, chilled and benumbed; in
her quiescent state, only her teeth chattered with the cold; she had
that continual impression of a band of iron round her brows; her cheeks
looked wasted; her mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at times a
painful hoarse cry rose from her throat and was repeated in spasms,
whilst her head beat backwards against the granite wall. Or else she
called Yann by his name in a low, tender voice, as if he were quite
close to her; whispering words of love to her.

Sometimes she occupied her brain with thoughts of quite insignificant
things; for instance, she amused herself by watching the shadow of the
china Virgin lengthen slowly over the high woodwork of the bed, as the
sun went down. And then the agonized thoughts returned more horribly;
and her wailing cry broke out again as she beat her head against the
wall.

All the hours of the day passed; and all the hours of evening, and of
night; and then the hours of the morning. When she reckoned the time
he ought to have been back, she was seized with a still greater terror;
she wished to forget all dates and the very names of the days.

Generally, there is some information concerning the wrecks off Iceland;
those who return have seen the tragedy from afar, or else have found
some wreckage or bodies, or have an indication to guess the rest. But
of the _Leopoldine_ nothing had been seen, and nothing was known. The
_Marie-Jeanne_ men--the last to have seen it on the 2d of August--said
that she was to have gone on fishing farther towards the north; and
beyond that the secret was unfathomable.

Waiting, always waiting, and knowing nothing! When would the time come
when she need wait no longer? She did not even know that; and now she
almost wished that it might be soon. Oh! if he were dead, let them at
least have pity enough to tell her so!

Oh to see her darling, as he was at this very moment,--that is, what
was left of him! If only the much-implored Virgin,