ess and consternation people took note of the tall,
fair young lady whose face and lips were as white as the dress she wore.

The _Royal George_ had lately arrived at Spithead after a cruise, and on
that fatal morning she was undergoing the operation known as a
"parliament heel." The sea was smooth and the weather still, and the
business was begun early in the morning, a number of men from Portsmouth
dockyard going on board to assist the ship's carpenters. It was found
necessary, it is said, to strip off more of the sheathing than had been
intended; and the men, eager to reach the defect in the ship's bottom,
were induced to heel her too much. Then indeed "the land-breeze shook
her shrouds," throwing her wholly on one side; the cannon rolled over to
the side depressed; the water rushed in; and the gallant ship met her
doom. Such was the story, told in hurried and broken words, that
Clarissa heard from the pale lips of an old seaman; but he could give no
other tidings. The boats of the fleet had put off to the rescue; that
was all he could tell.

There was no hope in Clarissa's heart as she turned her steps homewards.
Anthony had gone down--gone down with Admiral Kempenfeldt and his eight
hundred. The same breeze that had scattered the rose-petals and played
with her curls had a deadlier mission to perform. She remembered how she
had stood rejoicing in that sudden gust of cool wind, and the thought
turned her faint and sick as she reached her father's house.

"Clarissa," cried the captain, meeting her at the door, "what is all
this? Surely it can't be true. Where's Anthony?"

Ay, where was Anthony? She threw her arms round the old man's neck, and
hid her eyes upon his shoulder that she might not see his face.

"Father--dear father! He said he was going to see Lieutenant Holloway on
board----"

She could not finish her sentence, and there was no need of more words.
Captain Tillotson was a brave man; he had faced death many a time
without flinching, but this was a blow which he was wholly unprepared to
meet. Putting his daughter gently aside, he sat down on a sofa, and
looked straight before him with that terrible blank look that tells its
own tale of a stroke that has crushed out all strength. The servants,
glancing from the father to the daughter, saw that on both faces this
sudden sorrow had done the work of years. What was time? Was it months
or minutes ago that the first cry had sounded through the street?

"If