CHAPTER XVI.

If thou hast dipt thy foot in the river, yet pass not over Rubicon SIR THOMAS BROWN.

SEVERAL days passed in this state of cheerless monotony, when, one morning, as the ladies pursued their different avocations in unsocial companionship, a letter was brought to Mrs St Clair, which she had no sooner opened, than Gertrude observed her change colour, and betray visible signs of agitation. The servant said the bearer waited an answer, and, in manifest confusion, she rose and left the room. Although superior to the meanness of curiosity, Miss St Clair could not help feeling a natural desire to know the contents of a letter which had produced so visible a change on her mother, and she sat a considerable time, vainly looking for her return. At length, unable to repress her anxiety, she put aside her drawing

materials, and hastened to her mother's dressingroom. Upon entering, she found Mrs St Clair seated at a table, with writing implements before her, and her head resting on her hand, seemingly buried in profound meditation.

"I was afraid something was the matter, mama,” said her daughter, gently advancing towards her.

"Leave me," cried her mother, in an angry impatient tone; "leave me, I say-I can't be disturbed."

"Mama, can I do nothing for you ?" asked her daughter, as she reluctantly prepared to obey.

"Much, much,"-murmured Mrs St Clair, with a deep sigh-" but, at present, I desire you will leave me," raising her voice in an authoritative tone; and Gertrude, however unwillingly, found herself compelled to obey. Uneasy and restless, she could not compose her mind to any of her ordinary occupations. She saw something had occurred to agitate her mother, and she longed to participate, and, if possible, to aid her in her distress. After a while, she again returned to her, and was again repulsed with anger. Seeing that her presence only caused irritation, she desisted from far

ther attempts; and, taking advantage of a watery gleam of sunshine, which streamed from a pale, sickly sky, she set out on a solitary ramble, to which fresh air and exercise only could give a zest. She slowly pursued her way through leafless woods, where the only sounds she heard were those of her own footsteps amongst the fallen leaves, and the monotonous rush of the swollen stream. But each step was fraught with sad, yet soothing recollections-for rocks, woods, and waters, seemed all as the registers of her lover's vows; and in each silent memorial she felt as though she looked on the living witness of his faith. Thus nursing her fond contemplations, she had wandered a considerable length of way, when she was roused to observation by the sudden darkness of the sky-but whether caused by the lateness of the hour, or the approach of a storm, she was not sufficiently mistress of signs and times to ascertain. Whichever it might be, it had the effect of dispelling all romance, and making her wish herself once more safe at home. She was, however, more than two miles from it, by the way she had come; but, if she could get across the river, there was a short cut, which would take her home in ten

minutes, and she walked a little farther on, in search of some stepping-stones, which had been placed there instead of a bridge, which had been swept away, by what, in the language of the country, is called a speat.

A great deal of rain had fallen the preceding night, and the river was so much swollen, she could scarcely recognize the huge blocks by which she had frequently crossed the clear pebbly stream when it scarcely laved their sides. Now they merely held their broad heads above the brown sullen waters-but still they were above it—and, trusting to her own steady head and firm step, she, with some little palpitation, placed her foot on the first stone, "C'est ne que le premier pas qui coute," said she to herself; but, notwithstanding this comfortable assurance, there she stood for some minutes, ere she had courage to venture on a second step. But the sky was getting blacker, and some large straggling drops of rain began to fall. Ashamed of her irresolution, she was about to proceed, when she heard some one calling loudly to her to stop, and immediately she beheld, on the opposite bank, Mr Lyndsay, approaching at full speed, on horseback. In an instant he urged

his horse into the river, but the current was so strong, it was with the utmost difficulty the animal was enabled to gain the shore.

"Is it possible," cried Lyndsay, as he threw himself off," that you was going to attempt to cross the river in its present state ?"

"I not only mean to attempt, but to succeed," answered she, as she felt her courage rise to its utmost pitch, since she had now an opportunity of displaying it, and she was about to proceed, when he seized her hand

"You are not aware of the danger :—the river, you may see, is far above its usual height, and is rising every moment. A great deal of rain has fallen, and a fresh flood will be down directly."

"Well, it seems merely a choice of evils, as I seem destined to be drowned one way or another," said Gertrude, as the rain now began to fall in

earnest.

"I assure you, then, you will find it much the least evil to be drowned on dry. land-so, pray, take my advice for once."

But Gertrude felt as though it were due to Colonel Delmour to accord nothing to Mr Lyndsay, against whom she laboured to keep up what she