There was nothing more but the forlorn hope that the waves would restore the little body they had carried off, and Mrs. Morton was watching for that last sad satisfaction. In case of that contingency, Ellen, as the last person known to have seen the boy, had been left at Westhaven, in agonies of despair, vowing that she would never speak to any one, nor look at a story-book again in her life. She had attempted the excuse that she thought she saw Miss Ida going in that direction, but the young lady had declared that she had never been on the beach at all that afternoon till after the alarm had been given; and had been extremely angry with Ellen for making false excuses and trying to shift off the blame, and the girl had been much terrified, and owned that she was not at all sure. 'And oh, my lady,' entreated Eden, 'don't send me up to the House! Don't make me face her ladyship! I should die of it!' 'We must think what is to be done about that,' said Lady Adela. 'Can you tell whether any one from the House has seen you?' Eden thought not, and after she had been consigned to her friend, Lady Adela's maid, to be rested, fed, and comforted as far as might be possible, the sisters-in-law held sad counsel, and agreed that it was not safe to keep back the terrible news from the poor mother who expected daily tidings of her child, and might hear some report, in spite of her shut-up state. 'Poor Adela, I pity you almost as much as her,' said Bertha. 'Oh, I know now how much I have to be thankful for! No uncertainty--and my little one's grave.' 'Besides Amice. Let me drive you up, Addie. Your heart is beating enough to knock you down.' 'Well, I believe it is. But not up to the front door. I will go in by the garden. Oh, may he be spared to her at least!' Very pale then Lady Adela crept in, meeting a weeping maid who was much relieved to see her, but was hardly restrained from noisy sobs. Mr. Trotman, she said, had come just before the garden boy had inevitably dashed up with the tidings, and the household had been waiting till he came out, to secure that he should be near when Lady Northmoor was told. Adela felt that this might be the safest opportunity, and sent a message to the door to beg that her ladyship would come and speak to her for a few minutes in the study. Mary's soft step was soon there, and her lips were framing the words, 'No ground lost,' when at sight of Adela's face the light went out of her eyes, and setting herself firmly on her feet, she said, 'You have bad news. My boy!' Adela came near and would have taken her hand, saying--'My poor Mary'--but she clasped them both as if to hold herself together, and said, 'The fever!' 'No, no--sadder still! Drowned!'