At Abergele they stopped to rest; and because, being a larger place, it
would need a longer search, Maggie lay down on the sofa, for she was very
weak, and shut her eyes, and tried not to see forever and ever that mad
struggling crowd lighted by the red flames.
Frank came back in an hour or so; and soft behind him--laboriously treading
on tiptoe--Mr. Buxton followed. He was evidently choking down his sobs; but
when he saw the white wan figure of Maggie, he held out his arms.
"My dear! my daughter!" he said, "God bless you!" He could not speak
more--he was fairly crying; but he put her hand in Frank's and kept holding
them both.
"My father," said Frank, speaking in a husky voice, while his eyes filled
with tears, "had heard of it before he received my letter. I might have
known that the lighthouse signals would take it fast to Liverpool. I had
written a few lines to him saying I was going to you; happily they never
reached--that was spared to my dear father."
Maggie saw the look of restored confidence that passed between father and
son.
"My mother?" said she at last.
"She is here," said they both at once, with sad solemnity.
"Oh, where? Why did not you tell me?" exclaimed she, starting up. But their
faces told her why.
"Edward is drowned--is dead," said she, reading their looks.
There was no answer.
"Let me go to my mother."
"Maggie, she is with him.
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