rings the stop-bell,
causing the paddles to suspend revolution, and bringing the boat to an
almost instantaneous stop. The strong current, against which they are
contending, makes the movement easy of execution.

The shout of, "some one overboard!" is quickly followed by another of
more particular significance. "It's a lady!"

This announcement intensifies the feeling of regret and alarm. Nowhere
in the world more likely to do so, than among the chivalric spirits sure
to be passengers on a Mississippian steamboat. Half a dozen voices are
heard simultaneously asking, not "who is the lady?" but "where?" while
several are seen pulling off their coats, as if preparing to take to the
water.

Foremost among them is the young Creole, Dupre. He knows who the lady
is. Another lady has met him frantically, exclaiming--

"'Tis Helen! She has fallen, or _leaped_ overboard."

The ambiguity of expression appears strange; indeed incomprehensible, to
Dupre, as to others who overhear it. They attributed it to incoherence,
arising from the shock of the unexpected catastrophe.

This is its cause, only partially: there is something besides.

Confused, half-frenzied, Jessie continues to cry out:

"My sister! Save her! save her!"

"We'll try; show us where she is," respond several.

"Yonder--there--under that tree. She was in its branches above, then
dropped down upon the water. I heard the plunge, but did not see her
after. She has gone to the bottom. Merciful heavens! O Helen! where
are you?"

The people are puzzled by these incoherent speeches--both the passengers
above, and the boatmen on the under-deck. They stand as if spell-bound.

Fortunately, one of the former has retained presence of mind, and along
with it coolness. It is the young planter, Dupre. He stays not for the
end of her speech, but springing over the guards, swims towards the spot
pointed out.

"Brave fellow!" is the thought of Jessie Armstrong, admiration for her
lover almost making her forget her sister's peril.

She stands, as every one else upon the steamer, watching with earnest
eyes. Hers are more; they are flashing with feverish excitement, with
glances of anxiety--at times the fixed gaze of fear.

No wonder at its being so. The moon has sunk to the level of the
tree-tops, and the bosom of the river is in dark shadow; darker by the
bank where the boat is now drifting. But little chance to distinguish
an object in the water--les