e what had happened.
The truth was, that in the temporary dizziness produced by her prolonged
swim, she had found herself in the track of a steamboat that was passing
the pier, unobserved by her brother. A young man, leaping from the
dock, had caught her in his arms, and had dived with her below the
paddle-wheels, just as they came upon her. It was a daring act, but
nothing else could have saved her. When they came to the surface, they
had been picked up by Aunt Jane's Robinson Crusoe, who had at last
unmoored his pilot-boat and was rounding the light-house for the outer
harbor.

She and the child were soon landed, and given over to the ladies. Due
attention was paid to her young rescuer, whose dripping garments seemed
for the moment as glorious as a blood-stained flag. He seemed a simple,
frank young fellow of French or German origin, but speaking English
remarkably well; he was not high-bred, by any means, but had apparently
the culture of an average German of the middle class. Harry fancied that
he had seen him before, and at last traced back the impression of his
features to the ball for the French officers. It turned out, on inquiry,
that he had a brother in the service, and on board the corvette; but he
himself was a commercial agent, now in America with a view to business,
though he had made several voyages as mate of a vessel, and would not
object to some such berth as that. He promised to return and receive
the thanks of the family, read with interest the name on Harry's card,
seemed about to ask a question, but forbore, and took his leave amid
the general confusion, without even giving his address. When sought next
day, he was not to be found, and to the children he at once became as
much a creature of romance as the sea-serpent or the Flying Dutchman.

Even Hope's strong constitution felt the shock of this adventure. She
was confined to her room for a week or two, but begged that there might
be no postponement of the wedding, which, therefore, took place without
her. Her illness gave excuse for a privacy that was welcome to all but
the bridesmaids, and suited Malbone best of all.

XVI. ON THE STAIRS.

AUGUST drew toward its close, and guests departed from the neighborhood.

"What a short little thing summer is," meditated Aunt Jane, "and
butterflies are caterpillars most of the time after all. How quiet it
seems. The wrens whisper in their box above the window, and there has
not been a blast from t