Among that sad group on the shore, Grey was the first who came enquiring for friend or relative, and those who knew him pitied him with all their hearts; for they recollected his marriage had been the result of a love-match, and that he was reputed to be the kindest, most generous, and most loyal husband in the city. His constant good-humour and kindly actions, his generosity, and his great importance and usefulness to the people of Daneford, added in no slight way to increase the sympathy and respect of those who stood on the little quay that night and heard his excited questions, and answered him back gently and with tears in their hearts. For his own part he had not yet been able to bring the results of the disaster sharply before his mind. The fact that the disaster had occurred was never clearly with his apprehension. As soon as he removed his eyes from the salvage and the dead, and looked out upon the broad peaceful river, it seemed impossible that at the very spot he had recently rowed over scores of people lay dead, and among the dead his wife. The news of the catastrophe spread quickly, and gradually the crowd gathered and swelled. From the neighbourhood, some who had friends in the unlucky boat came, and found their friends alive in houses around the landing-place. Others found friends or relatives beneath the cloths which had been spread over the dead. Others were in a condition similar to Grey: could find no trace of those whom they supposed to be in the boat at the time she blew up. Among the last-named searchers was a man who lived on the banks of the river, and had heard the explosion and hastened to the spot. He had reason to fear his only son had been in the boat, but he could not to be certain, as the young man lived at Daneford, and often, though not invariably, took the boat on a Friday evening. The father was distracted, and at last came to Grey, whom he knew slightly, and, under the impression that the banker had been a passenger, asked for tidings of his son. After a few half-incoherent replies from Grey, the father gathered the facts of the latter's case, and found they were both circumstanced in the same way. For a moment the old man felt utterly helpless and desperate. Then his mind seemed to clear up suddenly, and, turning to Grey, he said: "Neither of us is sure he is a sufferer by this awful calamity, nor can we be certain as long as we stay here unless our worst fears come true." He pointed to the river and shuddered. "They have already begun dragging, but it will be days before all are found, if all are ever found. Each of us may hope still. Suppose, instead of this sickening waiting here, we drive back to the city? There we may find those whom we fear to find here. Is not that better than watching each boat, and bending over each poor body that is landed?"