a great impression upon one's
mind. I can recall every line of the Italian boy's head which I was
copying, and the sound of the scratch of Janet's pencil, as she
laboriously shaded a chalk study. I felt unusually restless and
disinclined to apply myself to my work. The air was heavy and still,
there was a grumble of thunder in the distance, and the silence of the
room broken only by an occasional criticism from the master, as he
corrected our drawings, grew almost unbearable. Gathering clouds were
already darkening the sky, and threatened a storm, and a vague
foreboding of evil seemed to come over my mind, dulling the keen edge of
my happiness. Does some subtle instinct, as yet neither known nor
understood, warn us when those we hold dear are in peril? Does our love
set in motion unseen waves of sympathy, so that the heart feels the
message which has not yet been told in words? I think so; for when the
door opened and Miss Wilton entered, I knew before she spoke that she
had come for me. There was an unwonted pity and kindness in her voice as
she quietly ordered me to leave my drawing, and come to Mrs. Marshall.
With trembling fingers I put away my pencils and obeyed. She took my
hand, and led me silently downstairs. There was a sound of voices in the
drawing-room, and Aunt Agatha was there, seated on the sofa. She had
been crying, and she rose quickly when I entered. Mrs. Marshall put her
arm round my neck and kissed me, but said nothing.

"Philippa dear," said my aunt, with more tenderness than I had ever
given her credit for, "can you bear me to tell you some very bad news?"

I could not speak. A great fear rose in my heart, and almost choked me.
My speechless lips framed the one question: "Father?"

"He is not come yet. He will be a long time coming. Oh! my poor child,
he will _never_ come! The _Ignacia_ has gone down with all hands on
board."

I would pass over the first outbreak of my grief, for it is so black a
remembrance, such a thickness of utter darkness and despair, that the
very memory of it hurts. I begged to be allowed to remain at school.
Many kind friends wished me to visit them, but I felt that to plunge
myself more than ever into my lessons and the coming examinations was
the only way to dull the keen edge of the sorrow that was wounding me so
sorely. Mrs. Marshall agreed with me, and by keeping my time most fully
occupied did me the truest kindness that in the circumstances she was
able to perfo