I be miserable with suspense?"

The young girl listened with a saddened and downcast look. A heaviness
had fallen upon her with the first sight of old Mr. Harrington on the
bank. True he had gone now, but his shadow seemed to oppress her still.

"Will you not speak to me, Lina? Will you not relieve this suspense by
one little word?"

She lifted her head gently, but with modest pride.

"You know that I love you, Ralph."

"But not as you have done. I am not content with simple household
affection. Say that you love me, body and soul, faults and virtues, as I
love you."

Lina drew herself up, and a smile, sad but full of sweetness--half
presentiment, half faith--beamed on her face.

"Your soul may search mine to its depths and find only itself there. I
do love you, Ralph, even as you love me!"

Her answer was almost solemn in its dignity; for the moment that fair
young girl looked and spoke like a priestess.

Ralph Harrington reached out his hand, taking hers in its grasp.

"Why are you so pale? Why tremble so?" he said, moving towards the
house.

"I do not know," answered Lina, "but it seems as if the breath of that
rattlesnake were around us yet."

"You are sad--your nerves have been dreadfully shaken--but to-morrow,
Lina, all will be bright again."

Lina smiled faintly.

"Oh, yes, all must be bright to-morrow."

As they passed the iron gate that separated the lawn from the shore,
Ben, who had seated himself in the boat, arose suddenly, and pushed his
little craft into the river again. His weather-beaten face was turned
anxiously down the stream. He seized the oars, and urging his boat into
the current, pulled stoutly, as if some important object had suddenly
seized upon him.

"Where can she be a going to? What on earth is she after? Has the old
rascal broke out at last? Has she give way? But I'll overhaul her! Pull
away, Ben Benson, pull away, you old rascal! What bisness had you with
them ere youngsters, and _she_ in trouble! Pull away, or I'll break
every bone in your body, Ben Benson!"

Thus muttering and reviling himself, Ben was soon out of sight, burying
himself, as it seemed, in the dull purple of the night as it crept over
the Hudson.

CHAPTER V.

ON THE BANKS AND ON THE RIVER.

There are moments in every human life when we would gladly flee from
ourselves and plunge into action of any kind, to escape from the
recognition of our own memories. This recoil from the past seldom co