Madame, even the poor servants, how many mourning
households would there be? Not because we were missing from the
Christmas party, as that was expected, but because they must be aware
that something had occurred. They must now be suffering under that worst
of all fears, doubt and apprehension. Eight months had passed since we
had seen them, and six must have gone by since they had heard from us.
There could be no doubt that, painful as our feelings were, they were
now most to be pitied. Oh how we longed for the wings of a bird to fly
over, and set them at rest. How the more we wept and talked about them,
the more unbearable and painful grew this feeling. All that we had
undergone; all that we seemed likely to undergo, appeared but as a drop
on the ocean compared to the mourning and sorrow which we knew were
filling the hearts of so many households, weeping, as they would be at
the mysterious and unknown fate of those they loved so much. We were
safe, we were well, we were comparatively happy, yet we could not tell
this, and, perhaps at the time, the very time, we were celebrating our
housewarming and Christmas dinner, they were lamenting us as dead.

Will it be wondered at that our Christmas-day ended in sorrow, and that
we wept for those weeping for us. We talked over all they might be
thinking and doing. Every speech, every sentence ending, "Oh if we could
only tell them, if they could only peep into the rude hut, and see the
healthy blooming faces contained therein, albeit each face was bedewed
with tears, each voice was choking with sorrow." This picture would they
see. The rustic rough house, with its wide open entrance, showing the
table strewn with the wrecks of our feast, but brilliant with flowers
and fruit. Lying on a rude grass cushion was the Mother, her hair all
dishevelled with sorrow, her face lengthened with woe; close by her,
with her face hidden from sight, was the little Mother; Madame leaning
far back in her chair, with a handkerchief over her face, was weeping
bitterly behind it; the six girls, in various groups, about the two
Mothers, were each, though deeply sorrowful, trying in their own sweet
ways, to speak of hope and comfort; the two boys, at a little distance,
were sitting on the ground, Oscar grave and sorrowful, Felix weeping and
crying while he fed his monkey to keep it quiet; the servants had
retired. Beyond, through the door, was seen the deep blue quiet sea,
over which we were so anxiou