“Have you seen the morning paper?” began Mary, in her low, measured tones, though her voice shook more than usual. “Have you seen those disastrous tidings from the Cape? Oh, Mr. Hardingstone, we are all in despair! Charles Kettering has, in all probability, been”--she could not bring herself to say it--“at least he is missing--missing, gracious Heaven! in that fearful country!--and we have only heard of it this morning. The General is incapable of acting; he is completely paralysed by the blow; and I have come--forgive me, Mr. Hardingstone--I have come to you as our only friend, to ask your advice and assistance; to entreat you to--to----” Poor Mary broke down, and went into a passionate fit of weeping, all the more violent from having been so long restrained. Frank was horrified at the intelligence; he made a grasp at the paper, and there, sure enough, his worst fears were confirmed. But this was no time for the indulgence of helpless regret; and when Mary was sufficiently composed, he asked her with a strange, meaning anxiety, “How Blanche bore the fatal tidings?” Heart of man! what depths of selfishness are there in thy chambers! At the back of all his sorrow for his more than brother, at the back of all his anxiety and horror, he hated himself to know that there was a vague feeling of relief as if a load had been taken off, an obstacle removed. He would have laid down his life for Charlie; had he been with him in the bush, he would have shed the last drop of his blood to defend him; yet now that his fate was ascertained, he shuddered to find that his grief was not totally unqualified; he loathed himself when he felt that through the dark there was a gleam somewhere that had a reflection of joy. “Blanche’s feelings you may imagine,” replied Mary, now strangely, almost sternly composed; “she has lost a more than brother” (Frank winced); “but of feelings it is not the time to talk. You may think me mad to say so, but something tells me there may still be a hope. He is not reported killed, or even wounded; he is ‘missing’; there is a chance yet that he may be saved. These savages do not always kill their prisoners” (she shuddered as she spoke); “there is yet a possibility that he may have been taken and carried off to the mountains. An energetic man on the spot might even now be the means of preserving him from a hideous fate. These people must surely be amenable to bribes, like the rest of mankind. Oh, it is possible--in God’s mercy it is possible--and we may get him back amongst us, like one from the dead.” Frank grasped at her meaning in an instant; and even while he did so, he could not help remarking how beautiful she was--her commanding sorrow borne with such dignity and yet such resignation. He drew down his brows, set his teeth firm, and the old expression came over his face which poor Charlie used to admire so much--an expression of grim, unblenching resolve.