ays the patience to answer
him, especially when he had asked the same ones half a dozen times. I
had as much curiosity as he had to know who and what the young lady was,
and I was impatient to hear from Flora. As she did not call me, I was
satisfied her patient was doing well. It was quite dark now, and I was
walking rapidly up and down the raft, to keep myself warm, for I had
had no opportunity to change my wet clothes for dry ones.

"Buckland!" called the soft voice of Flora, "You may come in now."

"How is the girl?" I asked.

"She is nicely now. I have rubbed her, put dry clothes upon her, and
covered her up with blankets in my bed. She wants to see you."

I followed Flora into her room. The stranger, with the exception of her
head, was buried in the blankets, and by the dim light of the lantern I
saw as pretty a face as it ever had been my good fortune to behold
before. I had hardly seen her until now; certainly my first impressions
of her features and expression were derived from this observation,
rather than from any former one. She had a very mild, soft blue eye; but
she looked quite sad and troubled.

"I wish to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life," said
she. "I shall never forget your kindness, and I hope I may be able to do
something more for you."

"O, never mind that," I replied. "That's all right. I'm glad I had a
chance to do as I did."

"You are a brave and noble young man, and you saved my life. It may do
for you to forget it, but it will not do for me to do so."

"I won't complain if you do;" and as all heroes say under similar
circumstances, I told her I had only done my duty.

"Yet I almost wish you had not saved me," she added, with a shudder, as
her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Why so?" I asked, though I had not much difficulty in reading the cause
of her sadness.

"My mother! O, my mother!" cried she, in agony.

Poor girl! I wanted to cry with her. Flora threw her arms around her
neck, and wept with her.

"Your mother was in the steamer--was she?" I added.

"She was--and lost."

"Perhaps not," I suggested.

"O, I know she was."

"Probably some were saved."

"I dare not hope so," sobbed she, uncovering her eyes, and glancing at
me. "I was sitting clear back, as far as I could get, looking into the
water, when this terrible thing happened. I was thrown into the river by
the shock, or I jumped in--I don't know which. I caught hold of that
stick, but I di