round; the
fumes of it mounted to their brains.

Months before, Darsie had listened while a woman who had been near San
Francisco at the time of the earthquake and fire endeavoured to describe
what was in truth indescribable, how the very air itself was at that
time charged with a poignancy of agony--an impalpable spiritual agony,
apart from such physical cause as heat and fire, an agony which arose
from the grief of thousands of tortured hearts.

She had listened--interested, curious, pleased to nestle in her easy-
chair, and ponder over a novel thought; but at this terrible moment she
had no need to ponder; realisation came sharp and sure. Tragedy was in
the air; she inhaled it with every breath, tasted it, felt its heavy
hand.

With one accord the occupants of the tent streamed across the lawns
towards the waterside, where even now an informal inquiry was taking
place. The officials in charge of the ferry-boat were defending
themselves against their accusers. Overcrowded? The ferry-boat had
been as crowded on two previous days, and all had gone well. It was
impossible to account for the accident. Since no further harm than a
few minutes' ducking had happened to the passengers, the greater loss
was on their own side.

To these officials, protesting, excusing, arrived in a mass a body of
white-faced men and women, demanding with one voice their lost--a young
man, an undergraduate; tall, fair, in a white flannel suit; last seen
standing on the side of the boat helping to lower the women into the
water; a young girl, in a boating-dress of blue and white. They were
not among the rescued. They had not been seen since the moment of the
accident.

_Where were they_?

As Darsie stood, ghastly and shuddering, by the water brink, she was
subconsciously aware of a strong arm in hers. Subconsciously also she
was aware that the arm belonged to Dan Vernon, but she had no time for
look or word; her whole being was strung to one agonising thought. Mr
Percival supported his half-fainting wife; the two sisters clung
together; the relations of Mary Everard paced wildly to and fro. On
shore all was tumult and confusion, on the river sunbeams sparkled, the
stream was quiet and undisturbed.

"Percival was like a fish: Percival could have kept afloat for hours."

A voice separated itself from the confused babel, and struck on Darsie's
ear, but even as her heart leaped upward another voice spoke. "It is
not a case of s