be of great interest
to succeeding generations. But the busy worker little guessed what
memories would hereafter cling to that morning's labour, nor dreamed
that some day those very stitches would remind her of the darkest hours
in her life.

She worked on until the old clock in the hall struck ten; and at the
same moment a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, strewing the
table with petals from the over-blown roses in the jar, and blowing
Clarissa's curls about her head. It was a welcome breeze, coming as it
did after the sultry stillness, and she stood up between the two windows
to enjoy the draught. Then, after pacing the long room to and fro for
awhile, she sat down to her frame again, and began to think about her
brother Anthony.

Had she been quite right after all? Would it not have been well to have
received that kiss of peace? Was it such a very meritorious thing to
hold out until her adversary had humbled himself before her? Even if the
apology were made, would it not be rather a poor victory--one of those
conquests which degrade instead of exalting the conqueror? Anthony was a
noble fellow, a brother of whom most girls would be proud. His only
fault was that determination to maintain his own opinion; but was that
indeed a fault? She worked faster, and almost decided that it was not.

So busy was her brain that time flew by unheeded, and she started to
hear the clock striking one. Scarcely had the stroke died away, when a
shrill cry came ringing through the quiet street, driving the colour out
of her face in an instant. Springing up from her chair, she hurried to
the window that overlooked the pavement, and saw that people had come to
their doors with dismayed faces, for a woman was standing on the
causeway, raising that terrible wail.

"It's all true--it's all true!" she shrieked. "The _Royal George_ has
gone down at Spithead."

The two maid-servants rushed upstairs in affright, for the cry had
reached their ears. The captain heard it in his room overhead, and came
down in his dressing-gown and slippers; but his daughter scarcely stayed
to exchange a word with him. Mechanically seizing the garden-hat and
shawl that hung in the hall, she put them on, and ran out into the
street, setting off at full speed for the dockyard gates. Could it be
true? Alas! the news was confirmed before she reached her destination,
and the first wail was but the herald of many others. Even in that hour
of universal distr