The night had passed.

Far and near the garden view looked its gayest and brightest inthe light of the noonday sun. The cheering sounds which tell oflife and action were audible all round the villa. From the gardenof the nearest house rose the voices of children at play. Alongthe road at the back sounded the roll of wheels, as carts andcarriages passed at intervals. Out on the blue sea, the distantsplash of the paddles, the distant thump of the engines, toldfrom time to time of the passage of steamers, entering or leavingthe strait between the island and the mainland. In the trees, thebirds sang gayly among the rustling leaves. In the house, thewomen-servants were laughing over some jest or story that cheeredthem at their work. It was a lively and pleasant time--a bright,enjoyable day.

The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, aftera walk round the grounds.

They exchanged a few trivial words relating to the beauty of theday, and then said no more. Possessing the same consciousness ofwhat she had seen in the trance which persons in general possessof what they have seen in a dream--believing in the vision as asupernatural revelation--Clara's worst forebodings were now, toher mind, realized as truths. Her last faint hope of ever seeingFrank again was now at an end. Intimate experience of her toldMrs. Crayford what was passing in Clara's mind, and warned herthat the attempt to reason and remonstrate would be little betterthan a voluntary waste of words and time. The disposition whichshe had herself felt on the previous night, to attach asuperstitious importance to the words that Clara had spoken inthe trance, had vanished with the return of the morning. Rest andreflection had quieted her mind, and had restored the composinginfluence of her sober sense. Sympathizing with Clara in allbesides, she had no sympathy, as they sat together in thepleasant sunshine, with Clara's gloomy despair of the future.She, who could still hope, had nothing to say to the sadcompanion who had done with hope. So the quiet minutes succeededeach other, and the two friends sat side by side in silence.

An hour passed, and the gate-bell of the villa rang.

They both started--they both knew the ring. It was the hour whenthe postman brought their newspapers from London. In past days,what hundreds on hundreds of times they had torn off the coverwhich inclosed the newspaper, and looked at the same column withthe same weary mingling of hope and despair! There to-day--as itwas yesterday; as it would be, if they lived, to-morrow--therewas the servant with Lucy's newspaper and Clara's newspaper inhis hand!

Would both of them do again to-day what both had done so often inthe days that were gone?

No! Mrs. Crayford removed the cover from her newspaper as usual.Clara laid _her_ newspaper aside, unopened, on the garden seat.

In silence, Mrs. Crayford looked, where she always looked, at thecolumn devoted to the Latest Intelligence from foreign parts. Theinstant her eye fell on the page she started with a loud cry ofjoy. The newspaper fell from her trembling hand. She caught Clarain her arms. "Oh, my darling! my darling! news of them at last."

Without answering, without the slightest change in look ormanner, Clara took the newspaper from the ground, and read thetop line in the column, printed in capital letters:

THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION.

She waited, and looked at Mrs. Crayford.

"Can you bear to hear it, Lucy," she asked, "if I read it aloud?"

Mrs. Crayford was too agitated to answer in words. She signedimpatiently to Clara to go on.

Clara read the news which followed the heading in capitalletters. Thus it ran:

"The following intelligence, from St. Johns, Newfoundland, hasreached us for publication. The whaling-vessel _Blythew ood_ isreported to have met with the surviving officers and men of theExpedition in Davis Strait. Many are stated to be dead, and someare supposed to be missing. The list of the saved, as collectedby the people of the whaler, is not vouched for as beingabsolutely correct, the circumstances having been adverse toinvestigation. The vessel was pressed for time; and the membersof the Expedition, all more or less suffering from exhaustion,were not in a position to give the necessary assistance toinquiry. Further particulars may be looked for by the next mail."

The list of the survivors followed, beginning with the officersin the order of their rank. They both read the list together. Thefirst name was Captain Helding; the second was LieutenantCrayford.

There the wife's joy overpowered her. After a pause, she put herarm around Clara's waist, and spoke to her.

"Oh, my love!" she murmured, "are you as happy as I am? IsFrank's name there too? The tears are in my eyes. Read for me--Ican't read for myself."

The answer came, in still, sad tones:

"I have read as far as your husband's name. I have no need toread further."

Mrs. Crayford dashed the tears from her eyes--steadiedherself--and looked at the newspaper.

On the list of the survivors, the search was vain. Frank's namewas not among them. On a second list, headed "Dead or Missing,"the first two names that appeared were:

FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR.

In speechless distress and dismay, Mrs. Crayford looked at Clara.Had she force enough in her feeble health to sustain the shockthat had fallen on her? Yes! she bore it with a strange unnaturalresignation--she looked, she spoke, with the sad self-possessionof despair.

"I was prepared for it," she said. "I saw them in the spirit lastnight. Richard Wardour has discovered the truth; and Frank haspaid the penalty with his life--and I, I alone, am to blame." Sheshuddered, and put her hand on her heart. "We shall not be longparted, Lucy. I shall go to him. He will not return to me."

Those words were spoken with a calm certainty of conviction thatwas terrible to hear. "I have no more to say," she added, after amoment, and rose to return to the house. Mrs. Crayford caught herby the hand, and forced her to take her seat again.

"Don't look at me, don't speak to me, in that horrible manner!"she exclaimed. "Clara! it is unworthy of a reasonable being, itis doubting the mercy of God, to say what you have just said.Look at the newspaper again. See! They tell you plainly thattheir information is not to be depended on--they warn you to waitfor further particulars. The very words at the top of the listshow how little they knew of the truth 'Dead _or_ Missing!' Ontheir own showing, it is quite as likely that Frank is missing asthat Frank is dead. For all you know, the next mail may bring aletter from him. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes."

"Can you deny what I say?"

"No."

"'Yes!' 'No!' Is that the way to answer me when I am sodistressed and so anxious about you?"

"I am sorry I spoke as I did, Lucy. We look at some subjects invery different ways. I don't dispute, dear, that yours is thereasonable view."

"You don't dispute?" retorted Mrs. Crayford, warmly. "No! you dowhat is worse--you believe in your own opinion; you persist inyour own conclusion--with the newspaper before you! Do you, or doyou not, believe the newspaper?"

"I believe in what I saw last night."

"In what you saw last night! You, an educated woman, a cleverwoman, believing in a vision of your own fancy--a mere dream! Iwonder you are not ashamed to acknowledge it!"

"Call it a dream if you like, Lucy. I have had other dreams atother times--and I have known them to be fulfilled."

"Yes!" said Mrs. Crayford. "For once in a way they may have beenfulfilled, by chance--and you notice it, and remember it, and pinyour faith on it. Come, Clara, be honest!--What about theoccasions when the chance has been against you, and your dreamshave not been fulfilled? You superstitious people are all alike.You conveniently forget when your dreams and your presentimentsprove false. For my sake, dear, if not for your own," shecontinued, in gentler and tenderer tones, "try to be morereasonable and more hopeful. Don't lose your trust in the future,and your trust in God. God, who has saved my husband, can saveFrank. While there is doubt, there is hope. Don't embitter myhappiness, Clara! Try to think as I think--if it is only to showthat you love me."

She put her arm round the girl's neck, and kissed her. Clarareturned the kiss; Clara answered, sadly and submissively,

"I do love you, Lucy. I _will_ try."

Having answered in those terms, she sighed to herself, and saidno more. It would have been plain, only too plain, to far lessobservant eyes than Mrs. Crayford's that no salutary impressionhad been produced on her. She had ceased to defend her own way ofthinking, she spoke of it no more--but there was the terribleconviction of Frank's death at Wardour's hands rooted as firmlyas ever in her mind! Discouraged and distressed, Mrs. Crayfordleft her, and walked back toward the house.