"Oh, no, do not believe it. She did not, she could not! You know how she hated the sea. She has but wandered away, following her wild fancy of finding her husband. She was too weak to go far. They will soon find her and bring her back," said Xenie, trying to whisper comfort to the bereaved heart of the mother, though her own lay heavy as lead in her breast. She rose after a moment and went to the window. "It is strange that Ninon does not return to get the breakfast," she said, looking out. "Can her mother be worse, do you think, mamma?" "She may be, but I hardly think it likely. She was better of the fever the last time Ninon went to see her. It is likely that the foggy, rainy morning has deceived her as to the lateness of the hour. She will be along presently, no doubt," said Mrs. Carroll, carelessly; for her trouble rendered her quite indifferent to her bodily comfort. Xenie sat down again, and rocked the babe silently for a little while. "Oh, mamma, how impatient I grow!" she said, at length. "It seems to me I cannot wait longer. I must put the child down and go out again. I cannot bear this dreadful suspense." "No, no; I will go myself," said Mrs. Carroll, struggling up feebly from the lounge. "You are cold and wet now, my darling. You will get your death out there in the rain. I must not lose both my darlings at once." But Xenie pushed her back again with gentle force. "No, mamma, you shall not go--you are already ill," she said. "Let the child lie in your arms, and I will go to the door and see if anyone is coming." Filled with alternate dread and hope, she went to the door and looked out. No, there was naught to be seen but the rain and the mist--nothing to be heard but the hollow moan of the ocean, or the shrill, piping voice of the sea birds skimming across the waves. "It is strange that the maid does not come," she said again, oppressed with the loneliness and brooding terror around her. She sat down again, and waited impatiently for what seemed a considerable time; then she sprang up restlessly. "Mamma, I will just walk out a very little way," she said. "I must see if anyone is coming yet." "You must not go far, then, Xenie." Mrs. Carroll remonstrated. Xenie dashed out into the rain again, and ran recklessly along the path, looking far ahead of her as if to pierce the mystery that lay beyond her. Presently she saw a young French girl plodding along toward her. It was Ninon, the belated maid. Over her arm she carried a dripping-wet shawl. It was a pretty shawl, of warm woolen, finely woven, and striped with broad bars of white and red. Xenie knew it instantly, and a cry of terror broke from her lips. It belonged to Lora. She had seen it lying around her sister's shoulders when she kissed her good-night; yet here it hung on Ninon's arms, wet and dripping, the thick, rich fringes all matted with seaweed. CHAPTER XVII.