DISASTER.

Cambridge May week is a function so well known, and so often described,

that it would be superfluous to enter in detail into its various

happenings. In their first year Darsie and Hannah had taken little part

in the festivities, but upon their second anniversary they looked

forward to a welcome spell of gaiety. Not only were the Percivals

coming up for the whole week, but Mr and Mrs Vernon and Vie were also

to be installed in rooms, and the Newnham students had received

permission to attend the two principal balls, being housed for the

nights by their own party. Throughout Newnham the subject of frocks

became, indeed, generally intermingled with the day's work. Cardboard

boxes arrived from home, cloaks and scarves were unearthed from the

recesses of "coffins," and placed to air before opened windows;

"burries" were strewn with ribbons, laces, and scraps of tinsel, instead

of the usual notebooks; third-year girls, reviving slowly from the

strain of the Tripos, consented languidly to have their hats re-trimmed

by second-year admirers, and so, despite themselves, were drawn into the

maelstrom. One enterprising Fresher offered items of her wardrobe on

hire, by the hour, day, or week, and reaped thereby quite a goodly sum

towards her summer holiday. A blue-silk parasol, in particular, was in

universal request, and appeared with _eclat_ and in different hands at

every outdoor function of the week.

In after-years Darsie Garnett looked back upon the day of that year on

which the Masonic Ball was held with feelings of tender recollection, as

a piece of her girlhood which was altogether bright and unclouded. She

met the Percival party at one o'clock, and went with them to lunch in

Ralph's rooms, where two other men had been invited to make the party

complete. There was hardly room to stir in the overcrowded little

study, but the crush seemed but to add to the general hilarity.

Ralph made the gayest and most genial of hosts, and the luncheon

provided for his guests was a typical specimen of the daring hospitality

of his kind! Iced soup, lobster mayonnaise, salmon and green peas, veal

cutlets and mushrooms, trifle, strawberries and cream, and strong

coffee, were pressed in turns upon the guests, who--be it acknowledged

at once--ate, drank, enjoyed, and went forth in peace. Later in the

afternoon the little party strolled down to the river, and in the

evening there was fresh feasting, leading up to the culminating

excitement of all--the ball itself.

Beside the Percivals' Parisian creations, Darsie's simple dress made but

a poor show, but then Darsie's dresses were wont to take a secondary

place, and to appear but as a background to her fresh young beauty,

instead of--as is too often the case--a dress _par excellence_, with a

girl tightly laced inside. When she made her appearance in the sitting-

room of the lodgings, the verdict on her appearance was universally

approving--

"You look a _lamb_!" gushed Ida enthusiastically.

"How do you manage it, dear? You _always_ seem to hit the right thing!"

exclaimed Mrs Percival in plaintive amaze; and as he helped her on with

her cloak, Ralph murmured significantly--

"As if it mattered what _you_ wore! No one will notice the frock."

At the ball there was an appalling plethora of girls; wallflowers sat

waiting round the walls, and waited in vain. Darsie felt sorry for

them, tragically sorry; but the sight of their fixed smiles could not

but heighten the sense of her own good luck in having the chance of more

partners than she could accept. Ralph showed at his best that evening,

evincing as much care for his sisters' enjoyment as for that of their

friend. Not until the three programmes were filled to the last extra

did he rest from his efforts, and think of his own pleasure. It is true

that his pleasure consisted chiefly in dancing with Darsie, and their

steps went so well together that she was ready to give him the numbers

for which he asked. As for Dan Vernon, he did not dance, but out of

some mistaken sense of duty, felt it his duty to put in an appearance

and _glower_.

"See old Vernon, glowering over there?" inquired Ralph, laughing, as he

whirled Darsie lightly by to the strains of an inspiriting two-step, and

for a moment a cloud shadowed the gaiety of her spirits. Dan ought

either to dance or stay away! She didn't _like_ to see him looking

glum!

The dancing was carried on until four in the morning, when in the chill

grey light the company were ranged in rows, and photographed, apparently

to provide a demonstration of how elderly and plain even the youngest of

the number could look under such inauspicious circumstances.

The three girls had breakfast in bed the next morning, somewhere about

twelve o'clock--a delightful occasion when all three talked at the same

time, relating thrilling experiences of the night before, comparing

notes, admiring, quizzing, shaking with laughter over a dozen innocent

drolleries. These after-conferences are perhaps the best part of the

festivities of our youth; and Noreen, Ida, and Darsie began that fine

June day as gaily, as happily, as unconscious of coming ill as any three

girls in the land.

Ralph had been anxious that his people should again lunch in his rooms,

but Mrs Percival had prudently decided in favour of a simple meal at

home, and it was approaching tea-time when the party sallied forth to

witness the day's "bumping" on the river. The elders were frankly tired

after their late hours, but the three girls looked fresh as flowers in

their dainty white frocks, and enjoyed to the full the kaleidoscopic

beauty of the scene.

The two Percivals' interest in the bumping was of the slightest

description--Ralph was not taking part this afternoon, and with Ralph

began and ended their concern. They stood on the crowded bank, rather

hot, rather bored, amusing themselves by scanning the people near at

hand. The Vernon party were but a few yards away, and Hannah attracted

special attention.

"She _is_ plain!" exclaimed Noreen; whereat Darsie snapped her up in

double-quick time.

"Of _course_ she is plain! She wouldn't dream, of being anything else!"

Beloved plain Hannah! No features, however classic, could be as

eloquent as hers in her old friend's eyes. Darsie tossed her head, and

looked flusty and annoyed, whereat Noreen feebly apologised, emphasising

her offence by blundering explanations, and Ralph grew restless and

impatient.

"I say! This is getting slow. Come along, girls; let's take the ferry

and cross to the other side. It's not half bad fun to see all the

shows. It will be a change, anyhow, and you can come back when you're

tired."

"I'll stay with mother," Noreen decided dutifully. Ida surveyed the

crowd on the opposite bank with the dubious air of one who has lived all

her life within her own gates. "I don't _think_ I care to go into that

crush."

"Oh, come along, Darsie. Thank goodness you're not so squeamish. Let's

get out of this." Ralph pushed impatiently forward, and Mrs Percival

turned to Darsie, with raised eyebrows, and said urgently--

"Do go, dear! Ralph will take care of you. We will wait for you here."

Darsie smiled assent, the thought passing lightly through her mind that

Mrs Percival looked particularly sweet and gracious when she smiled.

She never dreamt that that particular smile, that little glance of

appeal, were to remain with her all heir life, to be her comfort in a

bitter grief.

They passed the spot where Hannah and Dan were standing with their

friends, and acting on a sudden impulse, Darsie turned her head, with a

few laughing words of explanation: "We're going to look at the Punch and

Judies!"

There was no definite response, but Hannah's exclamation had an envious

tone which made Ralph quicken his footsteps. It was rare good luck to

get Darsie to himself for an hour; he certainly did not wish to be

saddled with plain Hannah as an unwelcome third.

The ferry-boat was on the point of starting, its flat surfaces crowded

with pleasure-seekers. Ralph and Darsie had to run the last few yards

in order to secure a bare space for standing. Ralph took the outside

with the nonchalance of the true boating-man, who would almost as soon

fall in the water as not. Darsie, standing close by his side, glanced

from one to the other of her companions, her never-failing interest in

_people_ discovering a story in each new group.

They had reached the middle of the stream, when a movement of the deck

upset her balance, and sent her swaying against Ralph's arm. She looked

up with a laughing apology, and was startled by the sight of his face.

So far was he from sharing her amusement, that never in the course of

their acquaintance had she seen him so pale, so set. He seized the hand

she had laid on his arm, and held it in a vice-like grip, as he bent to

look at the deck. At that moment Darsie stumbled afresh, and felt the

lapping of water against her thinly clad feet. She exclaimed loudly,

but her voice was drowned in the chorus of cries, questions, and appeals

which arose from every side.

How swiftly, with what incredible, paralysing speed a scene may change,

and seeming security give way to panic fear! Darsie, turning her head

to look at the crowd of faces which towered so strangely above her, met

but one expression in every eye--breathless, agonising dread.

Looking back upon the scene in after-life, it seemed the nightmare of a

moment; then the grip upon her arm tightened, she felt herself being

pushed past Ralph towards the edge of the boat, heard his voice speaking

to her in crisp, firm tones which she had heard in dreams, but never,

never from his living lips.

"Darsie! She's turning turtle! There's no danger, darling, if you jump

clear. The water's not deep. Some one will come. I'm going to throw

you in. Strike out for your life!"

She was lifted like a doll in his strong arms; her wild eyes, searching

his, met a cheery smile in response, she felt herself swayed to and fro,

realised with a shudder the parting from the firm grasp--fell, splashed,

felt the water close over her head.

When she rose to the surface the water near her seemed full of

struggling forms; she caught a terrified glimpse of a perpendicular

deck, of passengers falling like flies from their perch, and with the

instinct of despair struck out in the opposite direction.

Like most Newnham girls, she was a fair swimmer--happy hours spent in

the swimming-tent had ensured so much; but it was her first experience

of fighting the water in all the crippling fineries of race-week attire.

Her shoes, her skirts, the floating ends of sash and scarf all held her

down; her soaking hat flopped over her eyes, her very gloves seemed to

lessen the force of her stroke; but breathless and spent as she was, she

could not pause while from behind arose that dread, continued cry.

Ralph had told her to strike out, that there was no danger if only she

kept clear.

"All right, Darsie--all right! Keep calm--keep calm! I'm coming! I've

got you! Leave yourself to me."

It was Dan's voice speaking in her ear, clear and distinct in the midst

of the clamour; she felt herself seized in scientific fashion--in the

way at which she herself had played at rescuing her companions from

imaginary death--and, relinquishing all effort, was towed numbly to the

shore.

It seemed as if hundreds of people were waiting to rescue her; hundreds

of arms stretched out in welcome; hundreds of eyes grew suddenly moist

with tears. She was tired, and wet, and dazed, but she could stand on

her own feet, had no need of helping arms. Dan took her hand in his and

ran swiftly across the grass to the nearest tent, where already

preparations were in train for the restoration of the unfortunates.

Darsie was the first of the crew to reach this shelter, and Mrs

Percival and the girls awaited her tearfully on the threshold. She

awoke to fuller consciousness at sight of their faces, smiled in

reassurement, and murmured disjointed phrases.

"Quite all right--only wet! Ralph saved me! A second time! So calm

and brave!"

"Yes, dear child; yes! Take off that wet hat!" replied Mrs Percival

urgently, the girl's praise of her son adding to her tender solicitude,

and she hovered around with tender touches, the while from around rose a

ceaseless string of suggestions.

"Brandy! Hot tea!" "She ought to change at once!" "My house is just

at hand--do come to my house!" "My motor is waiting outside! Let me

drive you home!"

So on, and so on, innate kindliness of heart bubbling to the surface as

it invariably does in moments of disaster. As each unfortunate entered

the tent the same programme was enacted, the same kind offices

volunteered. "My house is close at hand--do come to my house!"

"My motor is waiting--do let me drive you back!" Each victim of the

immersion wore at first the same dazed, helpless expression, but the

presence of their companions, the kindly voices speaking in their ear,

the hot, reviving draughts soon brought about a change of mood, so that

they began to smile, to exchange remarks, to congratulate themselves on

escape. Darsie, with characteristic elasticity, was one of the first to

regain composure, and the Percivals hung delightedly on her description

of Ralph's composure and resource.

"I was terrified. It was a dreadful sensation to feel the deck sinking

beneath your feet on one side, and to see it gradually rising above you

on the other. And all the bewildered, terrified faces! Ralph never

turned a hair. He told me that there was no danger so long as I kept

clear of the boat; he lifted me up in his arms as if I had been a doll."

The colour mounted to Darsie's white cheeks as she spoke, and a thrill

of emotion tingled her blood. The first time she hears herself

addressed as "darling" in a man's deep voice is one that a girl cannot

lightly forget. She turned her head over her shoulder so as to be able

to see the entrance into the tent.

"Where _is_ Ralph?"

"He will be here presently. None of the men have come in yet. Ralph

will be so useful. He is as much at home in the water as on land. He

will be busy helping the others."

Mrs Percival spoke with happy assurance; nevertheless, she left

Darsie's side and edged her way through the crowd towards the open

doorway, through which she ought now to be able to see her son's return.

As she was within a few yards of the entrance it was suddenly blocked

by a group of men--hatless, dripping, dishevelled, but in demeanour

composed and cheery, as if what had happened had been quite an enjoyable

experience.

The foremost of the group greeted their friends with smiles and waving

of hands.

"Hullo! Hullo! Here we are! How are you feeling? All serene now?

Every one comfortably on shore? Got any tea left?"

"Is my son with you? Have you seen my son--Ralph Percival?"

Mrs Percival spoke in a high, clear voice, at the sound of which a

young undergrad. wheeled round quickly towards his companions.

"By Jove--yes! He was on board. I thought we were all here. Where's

Percival?"

He dashed out of the tent, stood looking blankly around, turned a

blanched face towards the tent.

Then from an inner corner of the tent another voice questioned sharply:

"Mary! Where's Mary--Mary Everard? She was with us--standing quite

near. _Mary's not here_!"

No one answered. There was a breathless silence, while each man and

woman in that crowded tent was subtly, overpoweringly conscious of a new

presence filling the atmosphere around--the presence of _Fear_! Heavy

as a palpable presence it pressed upon them; it lapped them 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 swimming. If he were not quick enough in getting away--if

he were caught beneath--penned!"

The strong arm gripped her more firmly still, steadied her trembling. A

fierce voice issued an order for "Silence! Silence!"

Margaret France came up with beautiful soft eyes and a beautiful soft

voice. She spoke wise, tender words. You were to come away--it was

better so. It would add to your friends' distress if you were ill. You

were wet, cold. You were to be sensible and come home.

Darsie looked at her thoughtfully for a long moment. She was thinking

that she loved Margaret France, that she had taken a fancy to her the

first evening at Newnham. How droll and witty she had been as an

auctioneer! Of the purport of her present words she had no

comprehension. She sighed and turned her face to the river.

"Leave her to me," said Dan's voice quietly. "I will take care of her."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

They found them at sundown; the two young, fair bodies--the tall, pale

lad, the slim, dark maid--two cold effigies of youth, and health, and

joy. On Ralph's forehead was a deep red mark, the mark of the blow

which had given him a prey to the waters; but Mary's brown locks floated

round a sweet, untroubled face.

They bore them to the mortuary, and those who loved them sat and wept

alone. Darsie spent the two following days with the stricken family,

who found their one comfort in listening again and again to the story of

Ralph's brave end. Weak and unstable in life, in death he had shown a

gallant front, and more than one of the unfortunate crew came forward to

testify to his courageous and selfless efforts on their behalf.

Mr Percival went about with a set face and shoulders bowed like those

of an old man. The girls wept helplessly from morn till night; Mrs

Percival lost in one night all lingering trace of youth; she kept up

bravely before her husband and daughters, but alone with Darsie her

anguish found vent.

"My son, my son! He was so good to me--so loving and kind. His faults

were the faults of youth, and, oh, Darsie, my, faults also! We blamed

him for faults which we had not tried to check. If he had lived and had

been obliged to face life for himself he would have risen to it, as he

rose to that last great chance. It takes a brave man to face death

calmly. He was not weak or selfish then--my Ralph! No one dared call

him weak. Thank God! We were with him to the end, we were happy

together, and you were with him too. That is what he would have wished.

He loved you, Darsie. If he had lived, he would have wished you for

his wife."

"Yes!" sighed Darsie, and laid her head gently on the other's knee. In

the silence which followed she was acutely aware of the unspoken

question which filled the air, acutely distressed that she could not

give the stricken mother the assurance for which she craved.

In Ralph's lifetime his friendship had brought Darsie as much pain as

joy, and, though death had wiped away all but tender recollections, even

in this hour of grief and shock she did not delude herself that she

sorrowed for him with the deepest sorrow of all. The anxious, pitiful

affection which she had felt for the man who leaned so heavily upon her

was more that of a sister than a wife.

Darsie stretched out her hand, found the chilly one of the poor mother,

and leaning her soft cheek over it, pressed it tenderly with her lips.

"You must let me be your third daughter! We can talk about him

together. I can tell you about this last year--every little tiny thing

that he said and did. You'll never be anxious about him any more, dear,

never afraid! You will always be proud of your hero boy."

Mrs Percival sighed. She was in too sensitive a mood not to realise

the meaning of the girl's lack of response, but the first pang of

disappointment was followed by a thought full of comfort to the sore

mother-heart.

"I loved him best. He was mine to the end! No one loved him like his

mother!"