Foster struggled to speak, but the words came | matted, tangled mass, and, clinging for dear life, with difficulty. had finally found a temporary resting-place. But what a situation! and what a scene! The waters foamed and leaped by her wildly, dashing almost above her head; and just beyond her uncertain hold yawned the deep down abyss, with the awful leap to the rocks below, sending the foam quivering into mid air, and sounding to the ears of those on shore like the mocking thunder of a very hell! And the fire-light redden "Janie and I were on the bridge; we were out her whim for the moonlight—a quick ride -when flash-in our very eyes-and wagon, Prince, timbers, all went out of sight. I grasped her, but lost her, and Prince dragged me out by the reins tangled round me. O God! but-" "Did you see her or hear her after you lost your grasp?" broke in Ik. "No-hear! why the river's running mount- ing each surging murderous wave and the faces ains!" gasped Foster. "Lanterns, quick! Come, men, perhaps the dam's choked. Janie's a brave girl, and there may be hope yet. Quick's the word!" and Ik . Bryson vanished in the darkness. of the hurrying helpers, and the dark black swaying woods up above frowning down upon the scene! "Men, hearken you to what I say," now said John Graham; "the girl can be saved yet, if the river don't rise more and carry over the drift. The tree she's on is stranded heavily. But we must lose no time. Quick some of you to Squires's stake above, and bring his boat down!" "It went over hours ago, John," said Squires; Leaving Foster, who, shivering in his wet clothes, seemed entirely unnerved, to the care of some of the women, the men hastily followed. By the time they reached the river bank the black cloud darkened and muttered in the east, and the moon was breaking through the thin"the water's a good two foot over the dock." after-drift of the storm. The bridge was not all swept away, but what remained threatened every moment to go down in the whirl of waters that, seething, hissing, and foaming, dashed wildly along. Ik Bryson with straining eyes scanned the whirling mass of water. Suddenly seizing John Graham's arm, so tightly that he almost cringed, and pointing along midway to where the flood leaped the dam, he said, under his breath, "Look!-right in the very middle. Don't you see something white, John ?" "Then quick to Foster's barn, and down here with the big skiff. That's the shape, come to think of it." Several started at the work, when Ik Bryson's ringing voice was heard: "Stop!-how can you cross that tumbling mass? You forget the bridge is gone!" What was to be done? "Is there no boat this side?" asked Graham. "Not one," said Ik, hurriedly—“we must raft it." "How would it do to try a floating bridge to "There's timber caught there, Ik; and I guess her?" asked Deacon Faunce, who, with coat off, it's the white birch you see glistening." Ik cast his eyes upward. was as active as the youngest. "I fear it's the only way left," answered Gra "One minnit, and we'll have a second of the ham. "Quick, lads, any thing in the way of moon clear." A few moments, and the moon rode out unclouded. plank and rope." Just below where the bridge had crossed the river took a bend before it reached the dam, and "By Heaven, it's Janie, sure as I'm a sin- a sharp point of rock ran out into the stream ner!" cried Ik. "I think it's her, sure!" said Farmer Squires. "By all that's merciful, men, quick, and let's have as big a fire-pile as wood can make!" It was not long-for ready hearts and ready hands were now at work-ere a glowing, lurid flame shot up on the river bank. Brush and old boards-any thing that could be found to add to the glow were cast upon the flaming heap, and soon flood and shore glowed alike as light as noonday. And by the first strong vivid glare the men saw how matters stood. It was a fearful sight, indeed, that met their eyes! Out midway in the whirl a huge débris of tree trunks and drift had grounded on the well-known shallow just opposite the centre of the dam; and half sitting on, half clinging to, an immense old stump that had stuck its long roots far down and "jammed," was Janie Thompson. And, brave girl that she was, as the fire illumed the waste, she untied her white kerchief from her neck, and waved it to themwaved it almost with an air of joy. She had evidently gone down the stream, striking the where had once stood a sort of wash-house. From this point (where were heavy bolts sunk in the rock) all with a will set to work. "Lash firm-and some of you keep the fire bright, and we may reach her yet," said Graham, who seemed the master-spirit of them all. The plan, as my readers probably have seen, was to lash plank to plank down the stream to reach the dam. The undertaking would have been a hazardous one in a smooth, swift stream, but here the great heaving surges made the heavy timber roll as though but the tiniest twigs, and their hearts sunk within them as they saw how fruitless this endeavor was. John Graham organized the men like whip-cord, and bridge and tree went plung- | breaking. ing toward the dam. All held their breath in who held the rope into proper position, telling terror. Ik Bryson, with straining eyes, sunk on them how much depended on them. They did not one knee, holding his clasped hands beseech-need such caution. ingly toward the awful object. The women on the bank above wrung their hands or hid their pale faces. Janie saw it coming, and cowering lower, grasped more firmly the poor support she clung to. One long moment-then, as though directed by a merciful Providence, the plunging wreck shot by the stranded drift, and leaping high in air, went thundering down upon the rocks below. And then, without any word of farewell or other-for there seemed none needed as each looked his good-by-Ik Bryson walked out to the further edge of the Point, and flung himself far out into the hurrying flood. There was a deep murmur among the throng on shore for a moment, all eyes watching where he sunk. He came up far out amidst the surges, striking out boldly for the middle, well knowing the importance of not missing his object by being carried along near shore. The torrent bore him along All breathed freer;-but what was now to be done? The fire burned high, and through the curling smoke the early daybreak was now faint-resistlessly, hurling him again and again out of ly glimmering. The brave girl shifted her position once and a while, at times waving her scarf. It seemed savagely cruel that you could not even make your voice heard over that small intervening space from shore to where she clung, to tell her she should yet be saved. Half-sitting halfclinging there, surrounded by the hissing, seething, hungry waters, death staring her in her face, and yet no help! sight, and hurrying him swiftly toward the dam. The line of men on shore, with Graham at their head, payed out the long line of rope carefully, and as smoothly as possible. Janie Thompson, from her perilous position, saw the movement, and half-rising half-crouching midst the roar, watched her rescuer intently. "Careful, careful, for God's sake, boys!" said Graham, in a shrill whisper. "He's gained the middle, and he'll strike right. Heaven grant it! Keep your eyes open, and if the drift goes down with the two-for I think it will, the river's rising so-haul as though your own lives were on it!" And now on a great curling leap of water Ik was borne straight down upon the stump. And as he struck-one second-and all eyes saw his arms clasp firmly, tightly around Janie; then, with a wild bound, drift and tree and all went A strange light shone in Ik's eyes as he an- out of sight. swered, “I am going down through the flood to her, father. I want firm hands to pay out, and strong ones to drag back; and you'll need quick eyes. But we haven't a minnit to lose-the river is rising fast!" They all saw by the expression on his face Ik's mind was made up. But it was as though he was throwing his life away as you looked at the angry river. "Under my arms, and over the shoulders, and across-that's it," said Ik, firmly. "Heavens! no, not that knot; here-this! I want breath, you know. There, pad the shoulders'twill help the strain. And now, mark me! Pay out the rope as I go down just so fast, and no faster, or it will swag and carry me under. Follow down shore with me, and if I miss her haul to land for life! If I strike right, and can stay, hold taut and wait my beck, for I'll want breath. If I strike right, and all goes over by my weight, haul then for dear life again. You mark me, boys! Graham, s'pose you head the crowd." Such were the words Ik Bryson said as he stood with the rope about him calmly looking out at the river's sweep. The day was just "Now, steady, boys!-quick, but steady!" rung out John Graham's voice, in stentorian tones. "Up-stream-up! up!"-and the line of men went up the bank with a rush. Graham was the first at the water's-edge as the brave fellow, with his arms locked tightly around poor Janie Thompson, came through the foam. Strong and tender arms received them. Janie was insensible, but restoratives and thoughtful care revived her. Ik looked about him, putting his hand to his head when they unbound the rope, staring at the cheering crowd most vacantly. But gradually his memory came back, and his first words were, "And is she really safe?" Poor, brave, heroic, half-drowned Ik! Did he not deserve to be told she was! And so, my readers, this fearful night passed away. A new bridge fills the place where the old one went down, and the green water-moss is beginning to gather on its piers; and QRiver falls with its accustomed deep voice over the same dam, adown upon the sharp rocks far below. But any of the villagers can tell you of the scene as though it was but last night's moon that looked upon it; and the little children point out just the spot where Janie Bryson clung till saved, when she was Janie Thompson. ARMADALE. BY WILKIE COLLINS, AUTHOR OF "NO NAME," "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," ETC. BOOK THE SECOND. CHAPTER I. THE MYSTERY OF OZIAS MIDWINTER. that she was a widow. Her husband had perished by shipwreck, a short time after their union, on the voyage from Madeira to Lisbon. She had been brought to England after her affliction under her father's protection; and her Na warm May night, in the year eighteen child—a posthumous son-had been born on the Olan Ured and fifty-one, the Reverend Deci- family estate in Norfolk. mus Brock at that time a visitor to the Isle of Man-retired to his bedroom, at Castletown, with a serious personal responsibility in close pursuit of him, and with no distinct idea of the means by which he might relieve himself from the pressure of his present circumstances. The clergyman had reached that mature period of human life at which a sensible man learns (as often as temper will let him) all useless conflict with the tyranny of his own troubles. Abandoning any further effort to reach a decision in the emergency that now beset him, Mr. Brock sat down placidly in his shirt-sleeves on the side of his bed, and applied his mind to consider next, whether the emergency itself was as serious as he had hitherto been inclined to think it. Following this new way out of his perplexities, Mr. Brock found himself unexpectedly traveling to the end in view, by the least inspiriting of all human journeys-a journey through the past years of his own life. One by one the events of those years-all connected with the same little group of characters, and all more or less answerable for the anxiety which was now intruding itself between the clergyman and his night's rest-rose, in progressive series, on Mr. Brock's memory. The first of the series took him back through a period of fourteen years, to his own rectory on the Somersetshire shores of the Bristol Channel, and closeted him at a private interview with a lady who had paid him a visit in the character of a total stranger to the parson and the place. The lady's complexion was fair, the lady's figure was well-preserved; she was still a young woman, and she looked even younger than her age. There was a shade of melancholy in her expression, and an under-tone of suffering in her voice-enough in each case to indicate that she had known trouble, but not enough to obtrude that trouble on the notice of others. She brought with her a fine fair-haired boy of eight years old, whom she presented as her son, and who was sent out of the way at the beginning of the interview to amuse himself in the rectory garden. Her card had preceded her entrance into the study, and had announced her under the name of "Mrs. Armadale." Mr. Brock began to feel interested in her before she had opened her lips; and when the son had been dismissed he waited with some anxiety to hear what the mother had to say to him. Mrs. Armadale began by informing the rector Her father's death shortly afterward had deprived her of her only surviving parent, and had exposed her to neglect and misconstruction on the part of her remaining relatives (two brothers), which had estranged her from them, she feared, for the rest of her days. For some time past she had lived in the neighboring county of Devonshire, devoting herself to the education of her boy-who had now reached an age at which he other his mother's teaching. Leaving out of the question her own unwillingness to part with him in her solitary position, she was especially anxious that he should not be thrown among strangers by being sent to school. Her darling project was to bring him up privately at home, and to keep him, as he advanced in years, from all contact with the temptations and the dangers of the world. With these objects in view her longer sojourn in her own locality (where the services of the resident clergyman in the capacity of tutor were not obtainable) must come to an end. She had made inquiries, had heard of a house that would suit her in Mr. Brock's neighborhood, and had also been told that Mr. Brock himself had formerly been in the habit of taking pupils. Possessed of this information she had ventured to present herself with references that vouched for her respectability, but without a formal introduction; and she had now to ask whether (in the event of her residing in the neighborhood) any terms that could be offered would induce Mr. Brock to open his doors once more to a pupil, and to allow that pupil to be her son. If Mrs. Armadale had been a woman of no personal attractions, or if Mr. Brock had been provided with an intrenchment to fight behind, in the shape of a wife, it is probable that the widow's journey might have been taken in vain. As things really were, the rector examined the references which were offered to him, and asked time for consideration. When the time had expired he did what Mrs. Armadale wished him to do-he offered his back to the burden, and let the mother load him with the responsibility of the son. This was the first event of the series, the date of it being the year eighteen hundred and thirtyseven. Mr. Brock's memory, traveling forward toward the present from that point, picked up the second event in its turn, and stopped next at the year eighteen hundred and forty-five. The fishing village on the Somersetshire coast itably exposed him. He had a thoroughly English love of the sea and of all that belongs to it; and, as he grew in years, there was no luring him away from the water-side, and no keeping him out of the boat-builder's yard. In course of time his mother caught him actually working there, to her infinite annoyance and surprise, as a volunteer. He acknowledged that his whole future ambition was to have a yard of his own, and that his one present object was to learn to build a boat for himself. Wisely foreseeing that such a pursuit as this for his leisure hours was exactly what was wanted to reconcile the lad to a position of isolation from companions of his own rank and age, Mr. Brock prevailed on Mrs. Armadale, with no small difficulty, to let her son have his way. At the period of that second event in the clergyman's life with his pupil, which is now to be related, young Armadale had practiced long enough in the builder's yard to have reached the summit of his wishes, by laying with his own hands the keel of his own boat. Late on a certain summer day, not long after Allan had completed his sixteenth year, Mr. Brock left his pupil hard at work in the yard, and went to spend the evening with Mrs. Armadale, taking the Times newspaper with him in his hand. "Bless my soul!" cried the rector, with his voice in a new octave, and his eyes fixed in astonishment on the first page of the newspaper. No such introduction to the evening readings as this had ever happened before in all Mrs. Armadale's experience as a listener. She looked up from the sofa in a flutter of curiosity, and besought her reverend friend to favor her with an explanation. "I can hardly believe my own eyes," said Mr. Brock. "Here is an advertisement, Mrs. Armadale, addressed to your son." Without further preface he read, the advertisement, as follows: F I should meet the eye of ALLAN ARMADALE, he is "Another family and other friends," said Mrs. Armadale. "The person whose name appears in that advertisement is not my son." The tone in which she spoke surprised Mr. Brock. The change in her face when he looked up shocked him. Her delicate complexion had faded away to a dull white; her eyes were averted from her visitor with a strange mixture of confusion and alarm; she looked an older woman than she was by ten good years at least. The years that had passed since they had first met had long since regulated the lives of the clergyman and his neighbor. The first advances which Mr. Brock's growing admiration for the widow had led him to make, in the early "The name is so very uncommon," said Mr. days of their intercourse, had been met, on her Brock, imagining he had offended her, and tryside, by an appeal to his forbearance which had ing to excuse himself. "It really seemed imclosed his lips for the future. She had satis-possible there could be two persons-" fied him, at once and forever, that the one place "There are two," interposed Mrs. Armadale. in her heart which he could hope to occupy was the place of a friend. He loved her well enough to take what she would give him: friends they became, and friends they remained from that time forth. No jealous dread of another man's succeeding where he had failed embittered the clergyman's placid relations with the woman | whom he loved. Of the few resident gentlemen in the neighborhood none were ever admitted by Mrs. Armadale to more than the merest acquaintance with her. Contentedly self-buried in her country retreat, she was proof against every social attraction that would have tempted other women in her position and at her age. Mr. Brock and his newspaper appearing with monotonous regularity at her tea-table three times a week told her all she knew, or cared to know, of the great outer world which circled round the narrow and changeless limits of her daily life. On the evening in question Mr. Brock took the arm-chair in which he always sat, accepted the one cup of tea which he always drank, and opened the newspaper which he always read aloud to Mrs. Armadale, who invariably listened to him reclining on the same sofa, with the same sort of needle-work everlastingly in her hand. "Allan, as you know, is sixteen years old. If you look back at the advertisement you will find. the missing person described as being only fifteen. Although he bears the same surname and the same Christian name, he is, I thank God, in no way whatever related to my son. As long as I live it will be the object of my hopes and prayers that Allan may never see him, may never even hear of him. My kind friend, I see I surprise you; will you bear with me if I leave these strange circumstances unexplained? There is past misfortune and misery in my early life too painful for me to speak of even to you. Will you help me to bear the remembrance of it by never referring to this again? Will you do even more-will you promise not to speak of it to Allan, and not to let that newspaper fall in his way?" Mr. Brock gave the pledge required of him, and considerately left her to herself. The rector had been too long and too truly attached to Mrs. Armadale to be capable of regarding her with any unworthy distrust. But it would be idle to deny that he felt disappointed by her want of confidence in him, and that he looked inquisitively at the advertisement more than once on his way back to his own house. It was clear enough now that Mrs. Armadale's |