"Not if he has died so suddenly," she answers. "He intended to alter his will, but he had not done so when I left him. The old will left everything to my cousin, Maud Langton. It is more than probable that I am penniless." "It does not seem to distress you, losing the fortune, I mean," the pale invalid remarks, with some surprise. "It does not," the girl answers, calmly; "I never cared to have my uncle's money; I know that Vane will take care of me," she adds, with tender confidence. And again Mrs. Odell's sad, white face grows sadder. "Dear, you forget that you have no assurance that your husband is living," she exclaims abruptly. Reine presses the small white hand that loosely wears the wedding-ring upon her poor aching heart, and lifts her dark, solemn eyes to the lady's face. "My own heart tells me he is living," she says, with passionate energy. "He cannot be dead, my darling, just as I had almost won his heart. He lives to bless me yet with his love. Ah, if I only knew where to find him," she breathes, with despairing earnestness. "My poor, poor child," Mrs. Odell says, with impulsive tenderness. "You must not be too sure. We can be sure of nothing in this world." "You have heard--something!" Reine says, with vague terror, looking fixedly at the lady. "Yes, dear. I have here some papers that I have been trying for sometime to get, the English and American papers with the accounts of the burning of the _Hesperus_ and the list of those lost." "And--my husband?" Reine says, looking at the lady with burning eyes. "Is reported among the lost," Mrs. Odell replies, the papers trembling in her trembling hands. A moment's silence, then Reine, trembling all over with emotion, rallies bravely from the shock. "Am not I, too, reported among the lost?" she inquires. "Yes, here it is, dear," and Mrs. Odell reads, under the heading of "Lost:" "'Vane Charteris and wife.'" "So you see that does not really signify anything," Reine says, momentarily radiant. "Here I am safe and sound on _terra firma_. And Vane had so much better a chance than I had that he cannot be dead. Did I not see him safe on board the life-boat myself?" "But, listen, dear," Mrs. Odell answers, sorrowfully. She folds down the paper and reads, in a weak voice, a short paragraph: "The _Sea-Gull_ rescued one life-boat after it had drifted two days at the mercy of the wind and waves. It was filled with thirsty, famishing women and children. They reported that the boat had been on the point of sinking from too great a load, when the four men who were in it had leaped into the water, heroically resigning their only chance of life in favor of the weaker sex. There is no ground for hoping that either of these noble, manly hearts survived their self-sacrificing act, as none have been heard from since." "Well?" Reine says, in a hushed voice, with a strange, prescient dread on her white face.