The only information he gained at the Marine Department was that the frigate, _The Northern Eagle_, which was laden with the rich collections of Count Orloff, had been driven along into the Atlantic Ocean--it had been seen for some time beyond Gibraltar, near the African coast, not far off from Tangiers--and that in all probability it had been shipwrecked and sunk not far from the Azores or the Canaries. Of the fate of Lieutenant Konsov nothing could be gathered; it was not even known for a surety whether he was on the frigate or not, as the whole of the crew had perished. The commander of the squadron, and Admiral Greig, were both now in Moscow, and there remained no one else to apply to. There had been some rumours in foreign newspapers that a disabled ship had been seen somewhere about on the ocean, but with no crew on board, as far as could be noticed; it was being driven by the storm in the direction of the Azores or Madeira. The violence of the storm had effectually prevented any efforts being made to rescue it. “Poor young girl!” thought the priest, looking at Rakitina; “so clever, so modest, so rich, and so young. They would have been a couple, if God had only spared him! No, he must be dead. Had he been alive, he would have sent some token to his native land, to his fellow officers, to his relations.” Once, when he had some spare time, he took the opportunity of speaking with Irena. “Young lady,” said he, “I have heard from my niece of your loss. Of course, it is plain your enemies had their own reasons for separating you from your wooer and giving you another. Why did it all happen? Why was Konsov treated with such disdain?” “I know not myself,” answered Irena. “My late father was very fond of Pavel Efstafitch, was always very kind to him, treated him not only as a near neighbour, but as one dear to him. And I, what words can describe my love for him? I lived only in his love.” “Well, then, how came this separation about?” “Oh, don’t ask me,” said Irena, covering her face with her hands. “It is such anguish to me--such grief. We saw each other often, corresponded; we used to have meetings. I gave him my word; we were only awaiting a fitting time to tell all to my father.” Rakitina was silent for some minutes.