since a child, she has always called the 'rings of the
water-witches,' wherever she learned that term. Her
cousin, Violette, was standing in the doorway, as she
saw Marie move off, and she cried out to her to beware
of the eddies; but my daughter, wayward and reckless, as
it is her habit to be in such matters, merely replied
with a laugh; and then, as the canoe began to turn round
and round in the gurgling circles, she cried out, 'I am
in the rings of the water-witches. C'est bon! bon! C'est
magnifique! O I wish you were with me, Violette, ma chere.
It is so delightful to go round and round.' A little way
beyond, not more than twice the canoe's length, rushed
by, roaring, the full tide of the river. 'Beware, Marie,
beware, for the love of heaven, of the river. If you get
a little further out, and these eddies will drag you out,
you will be in the mad current, and no arm can paddle
the canoe to land out of the flood. Then, dear, there is
the fall below, and the fans of the mill. Come back,
won't you!' But my daughter heeded not the words. She
only laughed, and began dipping water up from the eddies
with the paddle-blade, as if it were a spoon that she
held in her hand. 'I am dipping water from the witches
rings,' she cried. 'How the drops sparkle! Every one is
a glittering jewel of priceless value. I wish you were
here with me, Violette!' Suddenly, and in an altered
tone, she cried, 'Mon Dieu! My paddle is gone.' The paddle
had no sooner glided out into the rushing, turbulent
waters than the canoe followed it, and Marie saw herself
drifting on to her doom. Half a mile below was the fall,
and at the side of the fall, went ever and ever around