he ground. He sank first
in prayer, and then in insensibility. The doctor did everything. All that
night long he passed to and fro from house to house; for several had swum
to Llandudno. Others, it was thought, had gone to Abergele.

In the morning Frank was recovered enough to write to his father,
by Maggie's bedside. He sent the letter off to Conway by a little
bright-looking Welsh boy. Late in the afternoon she awoke.

In a moment or two she looked eagerly round her, as if gathering in her
breath; and then she covered her head and sobbed.

"Where is Edward?" asked she.

"We do not know," said Frank, gravely. "I have been round the village, and
seen every survivor here; he is not among them, but he may be at some other
place along the coast."

She was silent, reading in his eyes his fears--his belief.

At last she asked again.

"I cannot understand it. My head is not clear. There are such rushing
noises in it. How came you there?" She shuddered involuntarily as she
recalled the terrible where.

For an instant he dreaded, for her sake, to recall the circumstances of the
night before; but then he understood how her mind would dwell upon them
until she was satisfied.

"You remember writing to me, love, telling me all. I got your letter--I
don't know how long ago--yesterday, I think. Yes! in the evening. You could
not think, Maggie, I would let you go alone to America. I won't speak
against Edward, poor fellow! but we must both allow that he was not the
person to watch over you as such a treasure should be watched over. I
thought I would go with you. I hardly know if I meant to make myself known
to you all at once, for I had no wish to have much to do with your brother.
I see now that it was selfish in me. Well! there was nothing to be done,
after receiving your letter, but to set off for Liverpool straight, and
join you. And after that decision was made, my spirits rose, for the old
talks about Canada and Australia came to my mind, and this seemed like a
realization of them. Besides, Maggie, I suspected--I even suspect now--that
my father had something to do with your going with Edward?"

"Indeed, Frank!" said she, earnestly, "you are mistaken; I cannot tell you
all now; but he was so good and kind at last. He never urged me to go;
though, I believe, he did tell me it would be the saving of Edward."

"Don't agitate yourself, love. I trust there will be time enough, some
happy day at home, to tell me all. And