the boughs, that they could not extricate themselves so as to make
any exertions; ultimately, however, they also got out on the further
bank.

Mrs. Arkwright had sunk at once on being precipitated into the
water, but the buoyancy of her clothes had brought her for a moment
again to the surface. She had risen for a moment, and then had
again gone down, immediately below the forked trunk of a huge tree;-
-had gone down, alas, alas! never to rise again with life within her
bosom. The poor Indian made two attempts to save her, and then came
up himself, incapable of further effort.

It was then that the German, the owner of the canoes, who had fought
his way with great efforts across the violence of the waters, and
indeed up against the stream for some few yards, made his effort to
save the life of that poor frail creature. He had watched the spot
at which she had gone down, and even while struggling across the
river, had seen how the Indian had followed her and had failed. It
was now his turn. His life was in his hand, and he was prepared to
throw it away in that attempt. Having succeeded in placing himself
a little above the large tree, he turned his face towards the bottom
of the river, and dived down among the branches. And he also, after
that, was never again seen with the life-blood flowing round his
heart.

When the sun set that night, the two swollen corpses were lying in
the Commandant's hut, and Abel Ring and Arkwright were sitting
beside them. Arkwright had his baby sleeping in his arms, but he
sat there for hours,--into the middle of the long night,--without
speaking a word to any one.