I drew the skirt of my frock over my shoulders, for the night air was beginning to chill me, and contrived to regain the seat I had taken on first entering the boat. Whither would the river carry me? was the question I now put to myself, To the sea, doubtless. Had I not been taught at school that sooner or later all rivers emptied themselves into the ocean? The immensity of the thought appalled me. It seemed to chill the beating of my heart; I grew cold from head to foot. Still the boat held its course steadily, swept onward by the resistless current; still the willows nodded their fantastic farewells. Along the level meadows far and wide the white mist lay like a vast winding-sheet; now and then through the stillness I heard, or seemed to hear, a moan--a mournful wail, as of some spirit just released from earthly bonds, and forced to leave its dear ones behind. The moonlight looked cruel, and the water very, very cold. Some one had told me that death by drowning was swift and painless. Those stars up there were millions of miles away: how long would it take my soul, I wondered, to travel that distance--to reach those glowing orbs--to leave them behind? How glorious such a journey, beyond all power of thought,--to track one's way among the worlds that flash through space! In the world I should leave there would be one person only who would mourn for me--Sister Agnes, who would----But what noise was that?
A noise, low and faint at first, just taking the edge of silence with a musical murmur that seemed to die out for an instant now and again, then coming again stronger than before, and so growing by fine degrees louder and more confirmed, and resolving itself at last into a sound which could not be mistaken for that of anything but falling water. The sound was clearly in front of me,--I was being swept resistlessly towards it. A curve of the river and a swelling of the banks hid everything from me. The sound was momently growing louder, and had distinctly resolved itself into the roar and rush of some great body of water. I shuddered and grasped the sides of the boat with both hands. Suddenly the curve was rounded, and there, almost immediately in front of me, was a mass of buildings, and there, too, spanning the river, was what looked to me like a trellis-work bridge, and on the bridge was a human figure. The roar and noise of the cataract were deafening, but louder than all was my piercing cry for help. He who stood on the bridge heard it. I saw him fling up his hands as if in sudden horror, and that was the last thing I did see. I sank down with shut eyes in the bottom of the boat, and my heart went up in a silent cry to heaven. Next moment I was swept over Scarsdale Weir. The boat seemed to glide from under me; my head struck something hard; the water overwhelmed me, seized on me, dashed me here and there in its merciless arms; a noise as of a thousand cataracts filled my ears for a moment, and then I recollect nothing more.
[CHAPTER V.]
AT ROSE COTTAGE.
On regaining my senses I found myself in a cozy little bed, in a cozy little room, with an old gentleman sitting by my side gently chafing one of my hands--a gentleman with white hair and a white moustache, with a ruddy face, and a smile that made me fall in love with him at first sight.
"Did I not say that she would do famously in a little while?" he cried, in a cheery voice that it did one good to listen to. "I believe the Poppetina has only been hoaxing us all this time: pretending to be half-drowned just to find out whether anybody would make a fuss about her. Is not that the truth, little one?"
"If you please, sir, where am I? And are you a doctor?" I asked, faintly.
"I am not a doctor, either of medicine or law," answered the white-haired gentleman. "I am Major Strickland, and this place is Rose Cottage--the magnificent mansion which I call my own. But you had better not talk, dearie--at least not just yet: not till the doctor himself has seen you."
"But how did I get here?" I pleaded. "Do tell me that, please."
"Simply thus. My nephew Geordie was out mooning on the bridge when he heard a cry for help. Next minute he saw you and your boat go over the weir. He rushed down to the quiet water at the foot of the falls, plunged in, and fished you out before you had time to get more than half-drowned. My housekeeper, Deborah, put you to bed, and here you are. But I am afraid that you have hurt yourself among those ugly stones that line the weir; so Geordie has gone off for the doctor, and we shall soon know how you really are. One question I must ask you in order that I may send word to your friends. What is your name? and where do you live?"