She heard, shuddered; but did not move. Gertrude stooped down, and wrenching apart the hands which were convulsively clenched, said sternly, "Isabel, if you do as I tell you, you will be on shore in five minutes, safe and well; but if you stay there we shall both be burned to death. For mercy's sake, get up quickly, and listen to me!" Isabel rose, fixed her eyes upon Gertrude's calm, steadfast face, and said, "What must I do? I will try."
"Do you see that person swimming this way?"
"Yes."
"He will come to this spot. Hold fast to that piece of rope, and I will let you gradually down to the water. But, stay!"—and, snatching the deep blue veil from her own head she tied it round the neck and flung it over the fair hair of Isabel. Mr. Phillips was within a rod or two. "Now, Isabel, now!" exclaimed Gertrude, "or you will be too late!" Isabel took the rope, but shrunk back, appalled at the sight of the water. One more hot burst of fire gave her renewed courage to brave a mere seeming danger; and aided by Gertrude, who helped her over the guards, she allowed herself to be let down to the water's edge. Mr. Phillips was just in time to receive her, for she was so utterly exhausted that she could not have clung long to the rope. Gertrude had no opportunity to follow them with her eye; her own situation was now all-engrossing. The flames had reached her. She could hardly breathe. She could hesitate no longer. She seized the piece of rope, and grasping it with all nor might, leaped over the side of the vessel. How long her strength would have enabled her thus to cling—how long the guards, as yet unapproached by the fire, would have continued a sure support for the cable—there was no opportunity to test; for, just as her feet touched the cold surface of the water, the huge wheel, which was but a little distance from where she hung, gave one sudden revolution, sounding like a death-dirge through the water, which came foaming and dashing up against the boat, and, as it swept away again, bore with it the light form of Gertrude!
CHAPTER XLI.
SUSPENSE.
Let us now revisit the country seat of Mr. Graham. The old gentleman, wearied with travels and society not congenial to his years, is pacing up and down his garden walks; his countenance denoting plainly enough how glad he is to find himself once more in his cherished homestead. It is supposed that such satisfaction arose from the circumstance that the repose of his household is rendered complete by the absence of its excitable mistress, whom he has left in New York. This was like the good old times.
Emily and Gertrude, too, are closely associated with those good old times; and it adds greatly to the delusion of his fancy to dwell upon the certainty that they are both in the house, and that he shall see them both at dinner. Yes, Gertrude is there, as well as the rest, saved—she hardly knew how—from a watery grave that almost engulfed her, and established once more in the peaceful and endeared spot, now the dearest to her on earth.
When, with some difficulty, restored to consciousness, she was informed that she had been picked up by some humane persons who had pushed a boat from the shore to rescue the sufferers; that she was clinging to the chair, which she had probably grasped when washed away by the sudden rushing of the water, and that her situation was such that, a moment more, and it would have been impossible to save her from the flames, close to which she was drifting. But of all this she had herself no recollection. From the moment when she committed her light weight to the frail tenure of the rope until she opened her eyes in a quiet spot, and saw Emily leaning anxiously over the bed upon which she lay, all had been a blank to her senses. A few hours from the time of the terrible catastrophe brought Mr. Graham to the scene, and the next day restored all three in safety to the old mansion-house in D——. This venerable habitation, and its adjoining grounds, wore nearly the same aspect as when they met the admiring eyes of Gerty on the first visit that she made Miss Graham in her early childhood—that long-expected and keenly-enjoyed visit, which proved a lasting topic for her young mind to dwell upon.