zay's coat tails touched the water, and row her right back up over the dam again." "Mr. Green," I cried, seriously, "take care! An oar may break, then away we go-nothing could prevent it.” "Thank Heaven!" said I, "you are safe." She brushed her dripping hair from her eyes, strangled a little, and looked up. I was bending over her, kneeling. It was very romantic. I expected nothing less than “All but Laury," said Peleg; "she can't git that she would call me her preserver, and beover a dam, ye know!" tray at once her gratitude and her love. She "By Heaven," said I, alarmed, "we are go- moved her lips-her lovely but wet lips. I listened for their faintest murmur. ing!" "Yes, Blazay first," chuckled Peleg. "He what she said: likes to be first in every thing." "I see," said I, now much excited, "I am destined to give that fellow a thrashing." "Sho!" said Mr. Green, "I want to know. This is a leetle more fun than I bargained fur. I 'xpected the gals would be a trifle skittish, but I didn't think Blazay would kick in the traces." We were right over the smoking chasm, where a single false stroke of an oar might precipitate us into it. Susie, with a pale, frightened face, instinctively shrank to my side and clasped my arm. I felt a thrill, which made me for a moment forget the danger. The spray wet us, thunder and mist filled the air, the whirlpool foamed and boiled below, and I was happy. "Oh, dear, dear Peleg!" pleaded Laura-her rich mellow tones heard even above the roar of the falls "if you have any regard for me, don't." "I can't help it," said Peleg, pretending to lose his power over the boat, and actually letting the stern project over the dam. I threw my arm around Susie, and she nestled tremblingly to my heart. At the sight that wretch Peleg missed a stroke. The boat shot forward-we hung upon the brink! He struck the blades again, just in time to check our progress, and putting forth all his strength, might have saved us had not Laura, beside herself with terror, sprung up in the bow of the boat. "Mercy!" she shrieked; and flinging abroad her lovely arms, threw herself headlong upon Peleg. Of course that settled the business. The boat swept sheer over the dam with all on board, filling and capsizing instantly. IX.-COLD WATER. A piercing shriek went up as we went down. It was the voice of Laura, which had cast off its mourning for the wet occasion. Susie uttered not a word, nor was Peleg able to make any remark, facetious or otherwise, with the widow clinging to his back, hugging and choking him desperately. I remember a brief tumult in the water, arms tossing, crinoline floating, the boat keel upward, the eddies rolling and sucking us. Then I was trying to swim with a precious burden, raising the dripping head above water, sinking inevitably, going down with the current, touching gravel at last, and thanking my stars that I was tall. "Where's Peleg ?" And this is "What's Peleg to us?" I exclaimed, sentimentally. "He's a good deal to us-to me, at any rate!" she declared; and I was obliged to tell her that Mr. Green had got the widow on the keel of the boat, which he was hauling to the opposite bank. "Nobody drowned ?" "All safe, dearest !" "You needn't call me dearest!" said Miss Thornton. And she actually struggled from my arms. "Susie! dearest Susie !" etc. I don't remember the rest of my speech, and probably would not repeat it if I could. The truth is just this: I had fallen in love with this same Susie Thornton, and in the excitement of the moment I was betrayed into a rather illtimed declaration. "Mr. Blazay!" she exclaimed, in a strange tone, and with a strange look, in which were expressed, as I fondly believed, astonishment, rapture, alarm. "How can you!-you must not!-Peleg!" I protested. She was very much agitated. She shivered in her drenched clothes. She laughed nervously. She ran down the stream and fished out my hat, which had floated ashore. "Now we are even," she said, with unnatural gayety. "You have saved my life-I have saved your hat-and one is of about as much consequence as the other! Why didn't you let me drown? You might as well!" "All right!" shouted Peleg, having got Laura on the rocks. "Accidents will happen, ye know, in the best reg'lated families." Susie and I set out, climbing the banks. The thunder of the dam grew faint behind us, and looking back I saw the cascade gleaming white in the twilight. "Why, Susie, child! where have you been?" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, as we entered the house. "Oh, we only just went over the dam, that's all," said Susie. "Over the dam!" cried mamma. "Dam!-dam!" clamored little brothers, eagerly running to hear their sister's narrative of the shipwreck. I turned to go. Mr. Thornton grasped my hand. "No, Sir!" he said, with tears in his eyes, Wading, I emerged, bearing Susie in my arms, and with a squeeze that brought tears into mine. and carried her to the bank. "You don't leave this house to-night! You have saved our darter's life, and d'ye s'pose we'll see you go off in your wet clo'es? Not's long's my name's Thornton!" I fear I was only too willing to stay. I wanted one word of hope from Susie; and although she appeared indifferent to my going, I did not go. "Give him some o' my clo'es to put on, can't we, mother?" said Mr. Thornton. "This way, Mr. Blazay; I can fit ye, I know!" He introduced me to the spare bedroom, and soon brought me my outfit. I beheld with dismay the old-fashioned garments. But the antique style was their least objectionable feature. The dress-coat was of ample breadth, the waistcoat of voluptuous dimensions, the pantaloons baggy. But all were alike longitudinally scanty. They had been cut for a very much shorter and stumpier man. The ends of the sleeves reached my elbows. The trowsers-legs barely covered my knees, and appeared decidedly averse to making the acquaintance of the socks, whose position in the world was so much beneath them. Between waistbands and waistcoat I displayed a broad zone of borrowed linen. The collar of the coat rode my back like a horse-collar. Mr. Thornton rubbed his hands, and appeared hugely tickled at his success in clothing his guest. He held the candle for me at the mirror. I looked aghast at myself as I thought of meeting Susie. How could I think of pressing my suit in a suit that so needed stretching? I took courage, however, exhibited myself at the tea-table, and joined in the merriment my ridiculous plight occasioned. A delightful evening ensued. Susie was in high spirits; vivacious and sweet as Hebe after her bath. And further, my presence in the cottage did not prove a signal for Peleg to rush in. The heroes were sent to bed. The old folks shook hands with me affectionately, called me their daughter's preserver, and bid me good-night. The moment I was left alone with Susie her vivacity subsided: she became serious and silent. I placed myself at her side. The fragrant, dear little hand that lay idle on her lap I could not resist the impulse to seize and kiss it. She firmly and gently withdrew it. Then I talked; telling her of my previous languid, artificial life; confessing my self-conceit and my prejudices; avowing my infinite indebtedness to her for curing me of that folly, for inspiring with new life, with hopes, with happiness-and all that sort of thing. "Mr. Blazay," she exclaimed, shivering anew with agitation, "why do you tell me this now?" "Why not now?" "It is too late!" "Too late? It is not too late, Susie, if you love me." "Sir," she cried, almost angrily, "you must not-I tell you you shall not-speak to me of love! You have saved my life to-night; I am grateful; but-" she hesitated. 66 Say it! Say the worst!" ble-and fixed her eyes upon me with a look I shall never forget. "Mr. Blazay, I am engaged." This she said with that chilling resoluteness of tone which falls upon a lover's heart like death. I began to rave foolishly of perfidy; of the trap that was laid for me when I came to pay my addresses to one who was already secretly betrothed. "Oh! but I was not when you come!" "What!" I exclaimed-"you have engaged yourself since ?" "I have," said Susie. "When? To whom?" "The evening after you arrived: to Peleg." I leaped to my feet. Wrath and disgust almost stifled love. It was the last shock to my egotism to know that she had accepted Peleg after she had seen me! I would have rushed from the house, but I saw Susie laughing: distressed as she was she could not but laugh to see me striding thus to and fro; and then I remembered whose garments were drying by the kitchen fire, and whose I had on in their place. It was but a fitful, nervous laugh, however, and it changed suddenly to crying. That brought me to her feet. I claimed her; I vowed that she loved me; I knew it, and I would not give her up-and more to the same effect. Susie cut me short; arose in her dignity; pointed to the candle. "The light is at your service, Sir, whenever you wish to retire." I took it, and, without bidding her good-night, went, not to bed, but to the kitchen where my clothes were drying, carried them to my room, put them on again, returned to the entry, placed the candle on the table, and was going. Susie, who had been sitting in the dark, came out of the parlor and stood before me with a face like death. "Never to come again?" "Good-by!" she whispered, just audibly, of- "I have pledged myself: I shall marry him,” she replied, in a voice that smote my heart like stone. I regarded her a moment: so fair, so inexorable; another's, and not mine: then hurried from the house. X.-MY TRUNK IS PACKED. Out of doors all was hushed and quiet. How well I remember that night! A dewy, midsummer night. And there, standing beneath the moon and the dim stars, I had a feeling to which the gayest may sometimes be brought-a piercing sense of loneliness, as if I alone of all the world was without a home-an alien in the She lifted her face-tearful, white, inexora- beautiful, calm universe of God. I heard the throbbing murmur of the dam. I wandered toward it; saw its misty whiteness glitter in the moon; stood on the bank where I had first held Susie in my arms; and tortured myself with vain regrets. After I had done that long enough I walked back again, saw the light extinguished in the farm-house, and knew Susie had gone to bed. To sleep; perhaps to dream-of Peleg. I grinned bitterly at the thought; and bidding her farewell in my heart, and taking my last look at her window, I returned to the tavern. I packed my traps, then threw myself down, and rolled and tossed in the long, dark hours, as it were in black sweltering waves, the miserablest of men; heard the birds chirp, and saw the first gray glimmer of dawn; then sank into a feverish sleep and dreamed that Peleg took us all to ride on the river in the handle of his jackknife, with the blade hoisted for a sail. Awakened by Peleg's shutting the blade, I found it was broad day. I arose and dressed with care. I breakfasted as usual. Then I had my luggage brought down stairs, to be in readiness for the early train. Then I paid my bill. Then the landlady came and told me there was a person waiting to see me in the parlor. Then I went into the parlor; and there, sitting with her bonnet on, and with a little can of honey in her lap, was Susie Thornton. My heart gave a great bound at sight of her. But I saw at once that it was not an occasion to afford me the least ground of hope. Unwillingly she had come, sent by her parents, who did not press, and to whom she did not confess, her reason for not wishing to come. "Mother promised you some honey, you remember. And when I told her you were going she blamed me for not giving it to you, and made me come and bring it, with her best wishes-and father's." She got through her errand very prettily. I took the can, thanking her. But oh, it was a sweeter honey than that my soul hungered for. I took her hand. She burst into tears. She staid only to dry them and was going, when a loud, blatent voice at the door startled us. "Have you any business with me?" I demanded. For my time is occupied." "Wa'al, no, yaas, not exac'ly; don' know but I hev, and don' know as I hev. Truth is, you've got me into the all-firedest scrape, Mr. Blazay.' "I have got you into a-explain yourself!" "Yaas, you hev! an awful scrape!" And Peleg opened and shut his jack-knife vivaciously. "An' now, seems to me, Mr. Blazay, 'tain't exac'ly the fair thing for you to scoot off so and leave me in the lurch." "What do you mean, Sir?" "Wa'al, to come to the pint, it's just this: I'd got the idee into my head you was coming up here to marry Susie, and, ye see, that's what's overset all my ca'c'lations. Fact is, may as well own up, I had a sneakin' notion after Susie myself; and so, ye see, when I heard a dandified sort o' chap had come to town, and marched up to neighbor Thornton's as if he owned all this part of creation, and had come to collect his rents, I allow it did give me the allfiredest stirring up ever I had in my life! I wasn't long gitting into some clean clo'es, you better believe, and making tracks that way myself-about the time you was making a bee-line from the orchard, ye rec'lect!" "Mr. Green," said I, stripping back my cuffs, "I have long owed that nose of yours a wrench, and I perceive that you have brought it here to afford me the gratification." "Yaas, I guess not!" said Peleg, coolly. "Excuse me, Mr. Blazay!" And he stuck up the blade of his knife in a manner that rather discouraged my advances. "I remember what you said last night about giving me a thrashing; but thrashing goes against my grain, as the barley said to the flail. Hedn't ye better wait and hear what I've got to say?" "Go on," I said, mastering my indignation. "Wa'al, as I was going to remark, you hurried up my pop-corn, Mr. Blazay, a leetle faster'n I meant to hev it." Pop-corn, Sir! what do ye mean?" "Oh! you ain't acquainted with that kind o' confectionery? Plain English, then, I watched my chance, and, that very night, 'fore supper, "Mr. Blazay any wheres around this morn- popped-you know what-the question. ing, any on ye?" And she took me right up, as I knew of course she would." And Peleg felt the edge of his knife complacently. "That's what you made me do, Mr. Blazay; and now I'm bothered if I wouldn't give boot if the thing was unpopped. Come!" crossing his legs and talking very much as if he had been trading horses, "what do you say to a bargain now?" * The curtain was trembling. To prevent Mr. Green's observing it I rushed upon him, towered over him, and exclaimed, "You knave! you have not even been willing that I should speak with Susie; but you have driven the wedge of that nose of yours between us on every occasion; and now-" Peleg quietly stroked the said nose, and smiled. Lemme explain, Mr. Blazay. Ye see, all along, I wasn't quite sure o' the widow. Laury's an old flame o' mine, ye know. Offered my self to her six year ago-as it happened, jest after she had accepted Doctor Pellet, so of course I'd give her up. And ain't it curi's I never heard of Pellet's death till the very evening I'd engaged myself to Susie! Do be so obliging as to keep your hands off 'n me, Mr. Blazay, and I'll tell ye. Then, of course, the old feelings for Laury kind o' come up again, and I can't say that the twenty thousan' Pellet left her discouraged me in the least. Now, I was afraid you was after the widow, and I wanted the widow. I had a suspicion you was after Susie, and, if I couldn't git the widow, I wanted Susie. So then I was on the fence. Keep yer temper, keep yer temper, Mr. Blazay, and I'll continue. Want to know the reason why I didn't propose right off to Laury? I'd already got one bird, and what should I do with two? But I might 'a give you a chance with Susie, mabby you think? But 'tain't in natur', is it, 't I sh'd give the cat a bird in the hand, and take my chance for one in the bush? That's jest the case, Mr. Blazay." "Well, Sir!" "Wa'al, Sir," resumed Peleg, "last night, after the ducking, you know, I took Laury home. And in the excitement I kind o' forgot myself. I may as well own, I popped the question to her too. She accepted me, of course; might 'a known she would. That's the scrape, Mr. Blazay. Engaged to two gals to once!" And he put his head shrewdly on one side, as if studying some smart plan of extricating himself. here, you know, to court Susie, and not Laury. So, 'pon the hull, if it's the same thing to you, 'pears to me it's 'bout the fair thing for me to take Laury, and let you have―" At this instant the curtain was flung aside. Peleg stopped, Peleg stared, Peleg grimaced and whistled. "Phew! Who'd 'a thought it! Susie!" XII.-CONCLUSION. There she stood, in an attitude that might have done credit to Rachel, her eyes, her face, her whole form, so to speak, scintillant and quivering with intensified scorn. Peleg stretched himself up, plunged his hands deep into his pockets, screwed up first one side of his face and then the other, and repeated his astonished whistle. "Whew! Told ye so!" squinting at me. "Awful scrape! perfectly awful!" "Mr. Green," said I, "the lady desires to be rid of your society. I am waiting to see her very reasonable wishes complied with." "Don't be rollin' up yer sleeves on my account! don't spread yerself so like a cat a-falling jest for me! Ruther guess I'm in a bad fix, and had better back right straight out. Ye see, Susie, no mortal man could 'a ca'c'lated on Laury's turning up a widow jest as I had hooked myself to you. Now I hain't the least thing agin you in the world; and I didn't mean to flunk out when I made the bargain. But my. old attachment to Laury, ye know-and here's Mr. Blazay, a perfect gentleman, got property, likes you; and if you are satisfied with the swap-" She stamped her foot again, her eyes darting "Well, Sir! well, Sir! what can I do for fire. you?" "Wa'al," ," drawled the jockey, "didn't know but you'd like to take one on 'em off my hands. Good respectable girls, both on 'em; kind o' hate to break any hearts, or git into a breacho'-promise scrape; but I can't marry both, you know, without emigrating to Utah." "Well, Mr. Green, of which of these deluded young women do you desire to be relieved?" "Shall I hasten his departure?" I suggested. "Door or window-which would you prefer to see him pass out of?" "Don't trouble yourself, I beg of ye!" said Peleg. "You seem to understand each other, and I'm glad on't," scratching his chin. "We'll consider it settled if you've no objections. Hope the trade'll prove satisfactory all around. Ruther dull morning, Mr. Blazay. Looks 's though 't might clear up and be fine bimeby-'bout ten o'clock, I guess. And allow me to say, Mr. Blazay, if I've got a colt, or any animal you hap'n to want, I shall be most happy to talk. Exit Peleg. "I s'pose," said Peleg, "as I come first, knowed both of them, and kinder got my feelin's engaged afore you did, it's only fair I sh'd hev the first pick. Now lemme see which I'll take. Now there's Susic-awful nice gal-Wa'al, any time, ye know. Good-morning." handy about the house, you know-make a firstrate wife; not bad off either. S'pose old Thornton could give her a couple o' thousands now, and mabby three thousand more when he dies. Not bad, if a feller can't do better. But then there's Laury's got twenty thousand right in hand; that'd kinder set a feller up at once-no waitin' for dead men's shoes; an' besides, she took a shine to me before Susie ever did-that ought to be taken into the account; and I somehow think she'd take the disappintment o' losin' me harder'n Susie will; and then you came here. Susie arranged her bonnet-strings with agitated hands, and was hurrying away, in haste to hide her anger and her shame, when I held out my arms to prevent her escape, and— "Come! come!" says Mrs. Blazay, looking over my shoulder, "you've written quite enough about that foolish affair! Besides, I want you to take the baby." Susie's word is law. So I leave my story ROMOLA. BY THE AUTHOR OF "ADAM BEDE." CHAPTER LII. A PROPHETESS. dence the advent of renovation-of a moment when there would be a general revolt against corruption. As to his own destiny, he seemed to have a double and alternating prevision: sometimes he saw himself taking a glorious part in that revolt, sending forth a voice that would be heard through all Christendom, and making the dead body of the Church tremble into new life, as the body of Lazarus trembled when the divine voice pierced the sepulchre; sometimes he saw no prospect for himself but persecution and martyrdom :-this life for him was only a vigil, and only after death would come the dawn. The position was one which must have had its impressiveness for all minds that were not of the dullest order, even if they were inclined, as Macchiavelli was, to interpret the Frate's character by a key that presupposed no loftiness. To Romola, whose kindred ardor gave her a firm belief in Savonarola's genuine greatness of purpose, the crisis was as stirring as if it had been part of her personal lot. It blent itself as an exalting memory with all her daily labors; and those labors were calling not only for difficult perseverance, but for new courage. Famine had never yet taken its flight from Florence, and all distress, by its long continuance, was getting harder to bear; disease was spreading in the crowded city, and the Plague was expected. As HE incidents of that Carnival day seemed Romola walked, often in weariness, among the sequences to her than the new care of supporting poor cousin Brigida in her fluctuating resignation to age and gray hairs; but they introduced a Lenten time in which she was kept at a high pitch of mental excitement and active effort. Bernardo del Nero had been elected Gonfaloniere. By great exertions the Medicean party had so far triumphed, and that triumph had deepened Romola's presentiment of some secretly prepared scheme likely to ripen either into success or betrayal during these two months of her godfather's authority. Every morning the dim daybreak, as it peered into her room, seemed to be that haunting fear coming back to her. Every morning the fear went with her as she passed through the streets on her way to the carly sermon in the Duomo: but there she gradually lost the sense of its chill presence, as men lose the dread of death in the clash of battle. In the Duomo she felt herself sharing in a passionate conflict which had wider relations than any inclosed within the walls of Florence. For Savonarola was preaching-preaching the last course of Lenten sermons he was ever allowed to finish in the Duomo: he knew that excommunication was imminent, and he had reached the point of defying it. He held up the condition of the Church in the terrible mirror of his unflinching speech, which called things by their right names and dealt in no polite periphrases; he proclaimed with heightening confi it good to be inspired by something more than her pity-by the belief in a heroism struggling for sublime ends, toward which the daily action of her pity could only tend feebly, as the dews that freshen the weedy ground to-day tend to prepare an unseen harvest in the years to come. But that mighty music which stirred her in the Duomo was not without its jarring notes. Since those first days of glowing hope when the Frate, seeing the near triumph of good in the reform of the Republic and the coming of the French deliverer, had preached peace, charity, and oblivion of political differences, there had been a marked change of conditions: political intrigue had been too obstinate to allow of the desired oblivion; the belief in the deliverer, who had turned his back on his high mission, seemed to have wrought harm; and hostility, both on a petty and on a grand scale, was attacking the Prophet with new weapons and new determination. It followed that the spirit of contention and self-vindication pierced more and more conspicuously in his sermons; that he was urged to meet the popular demands not only by increased insistence and detail concerning visions and private revelations, but by a tone of defiant confidence against objectors; and from having denounced the desire for the miraculous, and declared that miracles had no relation to true faith, he had come to assert that at the right moment the Divine power would attest the truth |