Miles had remained at Florence, in retirement and bitterness, until his feelings outwore themselves. He wanted fuel to feed his thoughts against Minnie. He was tormented in soul; for sometimes a till then silent monitor awoke, and said-- "You were perhaps too hasty--you had no proof, but presumptive evidence--the most deceiving of any: return to Paris." And his fate took him by the hand, and led him thither. Before Minnie brought the newspaper to Paris, the journals, both there and in England, were teeming with accounts of the loss of the "Hirondelle," and a list given of the passengers' names. Who may depict the heavy gloom which fell upon her family at Gatestone, when her name, coupled with her infant's, appeared amongst those lost! Dorcas was almost broken-hearted. If Minnie could have seen her, she would indeed have regretted the _ruse_ of a moment, which could cause so much bitter anguish to one she loved--she would no longer accuse her aunt of coldness, but rather have pitied that want of energy, which made her seem what she was not. On Juvenal and Sylvia, too, it fell heavily, but in a different manner. On him, it awakened remorse and gloom for unjust severity, and a consequent hatred towards those who had urged him to it. He would not listen to the name of Burton, or Dalby, without violent passion, followed by almost tears; and this feeling was constantly awakened by Sylvia, who became more acrimonious in proportion as her conscience told her she had taken a good part in the oppression of her poor niece; and her greatest satisfaction was in torturing others. Dorcas and Skaife were the two who, in almost silence, bore the heaviest burthen; they spoke of her to one another, but beyond this, they were silent. Dorcas crept about her home in quiet grief; every little object which had belonged to Minnie was gradually taken from public gaze, to be treasured up in her own saddened room, and there she would sit for hours, looking upon them, and recalling when and how Minnie employed them. The old hall clock ticked no more: this was Juvenal's act--it awakened such painful feelings whenever its tongue proclaimed the hour; so one day, unknown to any one, he sent early for a carpenter, and the friend of years was consigned to a lumber-room!--_à propos_, this is too often the fate of old, tried friends, who would recall us to thought and duty by reminding us of wasted hours! Mrs. Gillett had but one phrase in her sorrow to cut Juvenal to the soul; and this was-- "I told you something bad would come of all your severity! Poor darling!--only for your cruelty she might be smiling amongst us now, and her blessed, crowing babby!" She spoke of it as if it had been a young game-cock. "And to think," she continued, "that that pretty creatur', long hair and all, has become food for fishes! There--never don't send no more into this house; for, as long as I'm in it, none sha'n't be cooked, I can tell you!"