er loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me.
Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love--a spring of light
--Hartley Coleridge.

Mrs. Rolleston had passed a terrible day of anxiety. The sudden rising of
the wind so soon after their departure first aroused her alarm, which, as
the utmost limit of the time they were to be away passed, became
augmented tenfold. The absence of the Colonel, who had gone inland, at
first a relief, now increased her desperation, for there was no one to
make an effort for their preservation or to ascertain their fate. She and
Bluebell, who suffered scarcely less, could only rush to the boatmen for
either consolation or assistance. They got little of the former, for with
the usual propensity of the lower classes to make the worst of
everything, they expressed a decided opinion that the canoe so overladen
could not have weathered the squall.

"But they might have put in somewhere," cried Bluebell, seeing Mrs.
Rolleston speechless with consternation.

"How far would they be got, ma'am?"

"They must have been gone nearly an hour before the wind began to howl."

"Then they'd be nigh the black rocks, and no place to land closer than
Coonwood, unless they turned back and got on to Sheep Island."

"Oh! go and see!" cried Mrs. Rolleston, beside herself with terror,
palling out her purse in answer to the mute unwillingness on the man's
face.

"It won't be no manner of use; but if it will be a satisfaction to you,
ma'am," looking expressively at the purse, "and my mate will come with
me, I'll go out for them. They ought to come down 'ansome," he muttered,
"if I finds the bodies."

The two ladies waited to see him off, fretting inwardly at the delay of
repairing a plank in the boat and fetching his mate. It was a good
substantial old tub, very different from the fairy canoe freighted with
those precious human lives. Then they returned to their weary watch in
Cecil's bird's-nest of a room, which commanded the most extensive view of
the lake. Bluebell's young eyes were the first to discern the tiny white
bunting, and hope battled with suspense till they could be sure it was
the sail they sought. With the field glass they made out two forms.

"Cecil is safe!" cried Mrs. Rolleston, recognising her large, shady hat.
"But still," she thought, "Bertie might be drowned, and Captain Lascelles
bringing her home. Oh, Bluebell! can you recognise him?" for the girl had