It was only one night and part of a day after all, and if Laura neither slept or ate during that time, it was because she had too much else to think of and to do. Vigorous measures must be taken to recover the bodies; that was the first thing. Then to get into communication with her brothers. They would see the news in the daily papers, but that would not be like authentic intelligence from herself. Frank would come to her immediately; she was sure of that; later, if—she could not trust herself even to think there could be an if—they would all be together at Greylock. Dear old Greylock! With mamma and Margaret gone what a mockery it would be!

Messages kept coming in from those who were at work at the scene of the disaster, but they all told of defeat. And so, too, did the constant booming of cannon. In this agony of suspense, she was thankful to have neighboring friends gather around her. She clung to them as the drowning cling to the arm that is trying to rescue them. This was due to her youth. In later years she bore her sorrows unaided by human support. Many of Mrs. Grey's friends came up from the city, full of grief and full of sympathy, and uttering words of hope they hardly felt. Frank was the first of the family to arrive, though he lived farthest off; Mr. Heath and Belle came next, and the group waiting in suspense, grew larger every hour. Belle was a marvel to herself; her treble sorrow, far from crushing her, lifted her up to a calm and dignified height where she had such glimpses of the glory of God that she was almost fain to shut her eyes. They all leaned upon her as upon a rock.

"Why do you stand at the window all the time?" asked Laura.

"To catch the first sight of them when they come," she said, simply.

"Are you still hoping? I have given them up."

"I think God has heard our prayers and that He will grant us the favor of knowing that their precious dust is spared to us. Still, heaven is as easy to reach from the river as from the dry land; we must remember that. Oh, Laura, look!"

A little procession was coming in sight; they bore one body on their shoulders; as they drew near, the sound of heavy boots fell like footsteps on their hearts.

"It is our mother," said Frank, who had been all day by the side of the river. "Look!"

He removed the covering from her face, and there she lay, the last heroic purpose written there, the eyes closed, the attitude one of perfect rest.

"Let us give thanks!" said Cyril Heath.

They knelt around her, but he could not master his voice, and it failed him; Frank tried, and broke down. Then a woman's gentle, calm tones were heard; gentle and calm, but strong and victorious; they almost saw the gates of heaven opened, and the triumphant entrance of a glad and glorified spirit into the presence of Christ.

Laura's tears came now in floods; as they rose from their knees she threw her arms around Belle, and said:

"You are on the wing; we shall lose you next!"

"You are mistaken," Belle said, quietly.

"Poor Margaret!" sighed Laura. "What a short, eventful career!"

"I do not feel sure that Margaret is not living," said Belle. "Mamma was so ripe for heaven that it seemed natural to think of her as being called home without a moment's preparation. She desired to die suddenly; I have heard her say so, repeatedly. But dear Margaret was full of vitality and very human, and while I think she was nobly 'planned,' I also think the plan was not fully carried out."

"She was one to suffer intensely."

"Yes, and to enjoy intensely."

"But if she is alive, where is she? Why don't we hear from her?"

"I do not know, but God does. I pray for her; and I never knew Him to let me pray for the dead. Again and again I have been restrained from praying for those for whom I was in the habit of praying daily. It was so in the case of Maud. Just before the telegram came, announcing her death, I prayed for all the rest of you, but when it came to her turn I was speechless."

"Dear little Maud! Now she and mamma are together again."

This conversation took place amid many interruptions, while the two sisters prepared their mother's form for the grave with their own hands. She had often alluded to the event of her death, and expressed herself as very weak on the point of being handled by strangers. They nerved themselves, therefore, to render all the last services unaided.

Some one tapped at the door. Laura opened it, and a weeping figure tottered in.

It was old Mary, bent with grief. No one had thought to send her a dispatch, and she was not in the habit of reading the papers. She had heard the disaster spoken of at market, and come away in her working-dress, just as she was, her basket of provisions in her hand.

When her first wild burst of grief was over, Mary said:

"Sure she's got her wish, and died sudden. She was always ready to go, and now she's gone. Often's the time I've heard her talk about dying, and I mind a time when she thought she was going, and there was a light in her eye, and 'What d'ye think of that?' says she. I declare, it was just as she looked when she says to me, 'Mary, I'm going to be married, and what d'ye think of that?' says she. Well, I bursted right out, and says I, 'We won't be long separated,' says I, 'for I've got the brown creeturs, awful,' says I, 'and all I'll ask is to live to nurse you, and lay ye out, and then there won't be no more need o' me in this world, and the Lord'll say, 'Old Mary, ye'r a poor, ignorant creetur, and you ain't to be trusted without your mistress, and I may as well let you in when I open the gate for her.'"

Indeed, the shattered figure looked as if this blow would be too much for it, as it soon proved to be.

"God has taken her away without pain," said Belle, "and in great mercy. It was quite right in you to come as soon as you heard the news."

"Ye'll let me do her hair with me own hands, Miss Belle," said old Mary. "She always liked me to do her hair. There, now, ain't she a picture?"

She did, indeed, look very beautiful, like one sweetly asleep, not dead. Belle went out to call Frank to see her. He was startled. "Is it not possible that she is living?" he asked.

"Why, Frank! After two days in the water?"

"But she is so like herself, Laura. Harry is very restless; he has asked for you several times."

"I had forgotten there was any Harry!" she said, and moved slowly away.

Harry had slept most of the time during the two days, but was now awake and able to tell his wife all about the fire, and with what difficulty he made his way back to her mother and Margaret. How his arm was broken he did not know, but it was in the struggle to reach them. When he described the moment when they both dropped away from him, she apprehended the whole situation at once, and was down on her knees at his side in a moment.

"And I reproached you!" she cried. "Harry, can you ever forgive me?"

"I knew you would come out all right, at last," he said.

"I did not know you tried to save them, with one arm disabled," she said, very humbly. "Forgive me, Harry."

"There is nothing to forgive, dearie. But there is a great deal I wish I could forget. It was an awful moment when I found I must let one go; but, oh, Laura! when both went! I wonder I did not drop dead."

"You did, nearly, poor boy. But tell me how it was they both dropped?"

"Oh, I was such a fool! Knowing what characters they were, I ought to have known that when I said one must loose her hold, each would resolve to be that one. Margaret was grasping my disabled arm with all her strength, when I spoke; she actually threw it from her, then, as one disdaining to purchase her life by another's; your mother's last movement was different: she clasped my hand, kissed me, then dropped it gently, or to express it more truly, laid it down, as she would something forever done with; the action symbolized final quiet parting with life. You can't wonder that that awful moment deprived me of my senses."

Some one knocked; it proved to be Frank.

"There is a possibility, a bare possibility, that Margaret is living. There is a rumor that a young woman floated down the river clinging to a board, and was picked up by a fisherman."

"But if it were Margaret she would have sent us some message."

"So it would seem. Still, Cyril is going to see. Belle is very hopeful about it."

"In religion Belle is an enthusiast," was the reply. "Frank, mamma sacrificed her life to Margaret, and Margaret sacrificed hers to mamma. They both had high notions on such points, and I can easily imagine mamma as dying for almost any one she dearly loved; but I did not believe Margaret had such heroism. They died sublimely! Better such death than a thousand narrow, selfish lives!"

"Yes, yes, indeed. Shall you be able to leave Harry to go with us to-morrow?"

"Yes; I must. George Van Zandt will stay with him. Poor Harry! I have been so unjust to him! Think of his trying to save mamma and Margaret, with one arm broken!"

"Harry is a noble fellow. There goes Cyril. And Belle with him, I declare! I must see to that."

He ran down and overtook them.

"I looked for you everywhere," she said, "and finally left a message for you. If this proves to be Margaret she is in a disabled condition, or she would have sent a message. She knows how careful we are never to leave each other in needless suspense. So I am going to see."

"Do you think she ought to go, Cyril?"

"Certainly. Let her put on her mother's mantle as soon as she likes. I agree with her that we shall find Margaret, and find her disabled."

Very early the next morning Frank received this dispatch:

"Margaret is living, but insensible."

"Ah, what different news this would be if mamma were alive to hear it!" said Laura. "What a tantalizing telegram! They do not say whether her case is alarming or not."

A little later in the day came another dispatch:

"Cyril will join you at Greylock. I cannot leave Margaret.

Bella Heath."

"Belle not at mamma's funeral!" cried Laura, in dismay. "How dreadful! Poor Belle! But she is right; and yet, why could not I go to Margaret and release her? Oh, it would not do to leave Harry. We need another sister."

"Let me go," said Fred's wife. "Belle ought to be at the funeral, and she must."

"Do, Hatty. If Margaret is insensible it cannot matter who takes care of her, if it is only one of the family."

There was no time to lose, and Fred and Hatty hurried off. Fred had only time to land, find the fisherman's cottage where Margaret lay, and almost force Belle away, leaving his wife in her place.

"It was very, very kind in Hatty," Belle said, as the steamer pushed off. "I will relieve her as soon as possible. How often it happens that the tide of grief is partially stayed by a rush of care. I have been so absorbed in Margaret that I have hardly had time to think of myself."

"Can she be made comfortable in that little cottage?"

"They are very kind people who live there; and then as to comfort, she would not know if she was in a palace. The physician who attends her says the brain has received a severe shock and is very doubtful as to what the result will be. But she has a strong constitution, and I think she will live."

"And where?"

Belle turned upon him a look full of astonishment.

"I had not thought of that," she said. "Why, she would come to me, I suppose."

"It would be a great change for her, and interrupt her studies, and put miles between her and any studio," said Fred.

"Yes. It will be time enough to think of that when she recovers."