Duke Dugdale's bravery gave way--he was of such a gentle, tender heart. The sight of his emotion stilled Agatha's frenzy, and made it more like a natural grief, though it was hard yet--hard as stone. “Come,” she said, taking his hand, and smiling piteously--“come--don't cry. I can't!--not for the world. Let us talk. What are you going to do?” “I am going right off to Southampton--whence they have sent steamers out in all directions to pick up the boats, if they are drifting anywhere about the Channel. Fancy--to be out in the open sea, this winter-time, with possibly no clothes or food!” “Hush!”--shuddered Agatha's low voice--“hush! or I shall go quite mad, and I would rather not just yet--_afterwards_, I shall not mind.” “Poor child!” “Don't now,” and she shrank from him. “Never think of me--_that_ does not signify. Only something must be done. No weeping--no talking--_do_ something!” “I told you I should. I am going”-- “Go then!” Her quick speech--the wild stamp of her foot--poor child, how mad she was still! Mr. Dugdale took no notice except by a compassionate look--perhaps he, too, felt there was no time to lose. He went towards the door--she following. “I am off now--I shall catch the train in two hours,” said he, springing on his horse in the dark wet night. “Harrie will be with you directly--only she thought I had better come first. Go in--go in--my poor child.” Agatha obeyed mechanically, for the moment She walked about the house, in at one room and out at another, meeting no person--for Andrews had gone to call up some of the servants. The heavy quiet around stifled her. Faster and faster she walked--clutching her hands on her throat for breath--sometimes uttering, with a sort of laughing shriek, the one word in which seemed her only salvation--“Impossible!--utterly and entirely impossible!” She sat down for a moment, trying to think over more clearly the chances of the case--but to keep still was beyond her power. She resumed that rapid walk as if she were flying through an atmosphere of invisible fiends. It felt like it. Once, by a superhuman effort, she drove her mind to contemplate the _possible_--the winds, the flames, the waves, and him struggling among them. She saw the face which she had last seen so life-like--as a _dead face_, with its pale, pure features and fair hair. And even that face never to be again seen by her through any possible chance! For him to be blotted out altogether from the world, and she left therein! “Oh, God--oh, God!” The despairing, accusing shriek that she sent up to His mercy!--May His mercy have received and forgiven it!