the river as the Falkenbergs, and in a few minutes his steady tread had brought him, struggling against wind and rain, to the bridge. Some one stood upon it, dimly outlined against the grey of the sky-a man whom a minute later he recognised to be Oscar Heim. He called him by his name, but the wind blew back his words; then he lifted his umbrella and waved, and called again— he was standing himself now upon the bridge. The man at the farther end heard, for he turned his head, and came towards him, when suddenly there was a gust of wind that caught the umbrella, and whirled it out of his grasp as if it had been paper; he felt himself blown with terrible violence against the wooden rail, which seemed to sway with him; then there was a quick snap of broken timber, and he was in the water, with nothing but his weak left arm between him and death. The cry he gave might almost have been heard by her from whom he had just parted with all a lover's tenderness-might almost have reached the ears of the mother, who had only yesterday welcomed him back from the shadow of death. But no miserable echo of it reached their loving ears-they were free to go on their way, dreaming happy dreams of the future, wherein he should play his part. But if they did not hear it, others did-loiterers by the river side, watching half curiously, half anxiously, what damage the storm might yet accomplish. "The boat, the boat,' they cried; and in the indistinct twilight they loosed it from its moorings where it lay awaiting sudden terrible emergencies such as this. It is the young captain,' they whispered, with white faces. The bridge is rotten, we knew it, it will bear nothing.' Then, 'Row to the bend,' one called, that is the only chance. If he passes there Then significant silence. But before the eager, helping hands had loosed the boat, almost before the wild cry had died away, a thin, haggard man had appeared on the bank-no one knew whence. 'Make way,' he cried, throwing off his coat. A man laid hold of his arm, saying, 'Stand back!' hoarsely, there is no use two going; he has as good a chance as you have.' 'He has not,' cried the other passionately, wrenching himself free. Why, man, his right arm is broken!' There was another splash, and the speaker had also disappeared into the dark water. 6 'He's a good swimmer,' the man said, it gives the other a chance.' That was all there was time for. The little boat was launched and hurrying down the stream to the bend where there was the chance. It seemed to Oscar Heim as he took that spring into the waves, and the cold water closed over his head, that all the agony and pain he had known and endured these last few days had nerved him for his frenzied attempt. His comrades' coldness, the looks of those who had turned from him to weep over brother or lover, who should have returned with him, or by whose side he should have been lying, the scornful words of Cathrine the night before, all seemed to give strength to his arms, courage to his heart. And if anything more were needed, it was the thought of the kind words that this man had spoken to him so short a time before. And I left him with the rest,' the wind seemed wailing in his ears, but he went back for his friend.' In the bend of the stream the boat waited; the tired swimmer drew near; here in the shelter of the bank it had not been so difficult after all, though it was far enough, much more would have been impossible. But Louis was a swimmer himself, and in happier circumstances would have had a fair chance, now at least he did not encumber his deliverer But he was weak, he was not yet recovered, and he felt his strength ebbing, felt that he was growing heavier, leaning more than was wise on him who struck out so manfully for their two lives. And after all it was useless struggling, it was not worth the effort; the dark water swam before his eyes, there was a surging sound in his ears. Then a strong arm was round him, and he knew that he was being drawn into the safe shelter of the boat. Friendly arms were round him, friendly voices in his ears, bidding him take courage; one man, the fortunate possessor of a small flask of brandy, gave him a few drops, and he felt better, stronger, less as if the battle of life were not worth fighting. Warmth stole into his frozen limbs, memory came slowly backmemory of all he would have had to leave behind if these friends had been a shade less swift and earnest-if another had stopped to consider the risk, and had left him alone in his helplessness. 'Oscar,' he said, opening his eyes. There was no reply. The faces around him seemed to waver unsteadily or was it the quick-flying clouds overhead which dazzled him with their uncertain movements? But the eyes of the man beside him as he repeated the name did not look into his. And of a sudden he understood. He stood up, the watery moonlight gleaming on his boyish face, the anguish of his eyes deepening. 'Where is he?' he cried. But there was no need for the answer; he knew what it was long before it came. He was swept past before we could reach him. The current was too strong-he passed the bend, and after that it was hopeless. We knew that from the first.' Up on the hill-side in the village churchyard stands a white marble cross. Its gold letters catch bright gleams from the eastern side as the sun rises day by day to run its course. Sometimes a tender blue-eyed girl stands and reads them, her hand resting on Louis Lindenbach's arm; sometimes a woman with a grave, strong face, and eyes that, though unsmiling, are yet less hard and cold than of old. The eastern heavens glow with a faint reflection of the glory that shall be hereafter the letters gleam in the quick passing glory, and for a few brief minutes blazon forth in gold their legend to the passers-by : Here sleeps OSCAR HEIM, HE GAVE HIS LIFE TO SAVE THAT OF LOUIS VON LINDENBACH, THE 11TH DAY OF MARCH, 1871. 'When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.' 42 Woodhouselee. WOODHOUSELEE was a cheery place When Bothwellhaugh brought home his bride; The folk blessed either comely face, As he and she rode side by side: They welcomed both with song and shout, As Roslin bells rang gaily out; Was never thought of dread or doubt Woodhouselee was a dreary place Woodhouselee is an eerie place When night upon the woodland falls, For then a form is seen to pace Beside the mere beneath the walls: A dame in white, who weeps and wrings, Round haunted Woodhouselee. B. MONTGOMERIE RANKING. 1 |