Miss Lorton had sent a
shock through the quiet village of Tenby, and every where might be
heard expressions of the deepest sympathy with the younger sister,
who seemed so gentle, so innocent, so inexperienced, and so
affectionate. All had heard of the anguish into which she had been
thrown by the news of the fearful calamity, and a respectful
commiseration for grief so great was exhibited by all. The honest
fishermen who had gone first on the search on that eventful night had
not been satisfied, but early on the following morning had roused all
the fishing population, and fifty or sixty boats started oft' before
dawn to scour the coast, and to examine the sea bottom. This they
kept up for two or three days; but without success. Then, at last,
they gave up the search. Nothing of this, however, was known to
Zillah, who, at that particular time, was in the first anguish of her
grief, and lay prostrated in mind and body. Even the chattering
Mathilde was awed by the solemnity of woe.

The people of Tenby were nearly all of the humbler class. The widow
who owned the house had moved away, and there were none with whom
Zillah could associate, except the rector and his wife. They were old
people, and had no children. The Rev. Mr. Harvey had lived there all
his life, and was now well advanced in years. At the first tidings of
the mournful event he had gone to Zillah's house to see if he could
be of any assistance; but finding that she was ill in bed, he had
sent his wife to offer her services. Mrs. Harvey had watched over
poor Zillah in her grief, and had soothed her too. Mathilde would
have been but a poor nurse for one in such a situation, and Mrs.
Harvey's motherly care and sweet words of consolation had something,
at least, to do with Zillah's recovery.

When she was better, Mrs. Harvey urged her to come and stay with them
for a time. It would give her a change of scene, she said, and that
was all-important. Zillah was deeply touched by her affectionate
solicitude, but declined to leave her house. She felt, she said, as
though solitude would be best for her under such circumstances.

"My dear child," said Mrs. Harvey, who had formed almost a maternal
affection for Zillah, and had come to address her always in that
way--"my dear child, you should not try to deepen your grief by
staying here and brooding over it. Every thing here only makes it
worse. You must really come with me, if for only a few days, and see
if your dis