His call, however, seemed to alarm her still more, and, in fact, notwithstanding her wild and superstitious confidence in the probability of her outliving the smith, the fear of death from his ruffianly hands had come strongly upon her, and she fled, shrieking from the magistrate, with the full confidence that Britton was pursuing her, armed with the knife she had seen gleaming for an instant above her devoted head. Her fleetness astonished Sir Frederick Hartleton, for swift runner as he was, he could not come up with her. “Maud!” he cried again, and the poor creature answered him by a scream, which at once convinced him that he inspired her with terror, rather than confidence, by calling after her. He therefore abstained from doing so, and began evidently to gain upon her just as she neared the part of the river’s bank where the low wall terminated. Now she looked back and screamed again, as she saw his figure dashing onwards through the gloom. “I am a friend!” cried Sir Frederick Hartleton, but his voice was weak from the violence, from which he had been pursuing Mad Maud, and she heard him not. Now she reached the end of the wall, and looked round again.—A cry announced her terror, and she turned toward the river instead of the land. There was a heavy splash, and as he heard it, the awful conviction came across the mind of the magistrate, that the unhappy creature had thrown herself into the Thames to escape him. He gained the spot in an instant. A lighter stood moored close to the bank. With a tremendous spring Sir Frederick gained the deck, and leaning anxiously over the side, he gazed earnestly into the stream as it rippled by. A stifled cry met his ears. He looked in the direction from whence it came, and saw a dark object hurried on by the water. It was but the act of a moment to dive from the deck of the lighter, and in the next the athletic Sir Frederick Hartleton touched the bottom of the Thames. He was an admirable swimmer, and rising to the surface, just as the watchmen on the Surrey side began to spring their rattles, and give an alarm by calling out that some one had fallen in the river. Some few hundred yards in advance of him, he saw the dark object still hurrying on. Assisted by the tide, and his own vigorous swimming, he soon neared it. A few more sweeps of his arms brought him within arm’s length, and he grasped poor Maud, for it was she, indeed, by her long raven hair which had escaped from its confinement, and floated in a dark mass upon the surface of the water. “Help!” cried Sir Frederick in a clear voice, and turning towards the Surrey shore, which was now much nearer to him than that from which he had come. Several boats had now pushed off, and in one a man stood up with a link that cast a lurid glare over the stream. “Hilloa!” cried the man. “Who’s in for a ducking now? Hilloa there.” “Hilloa!” cried Sir Frederick, and the rowers at once pulled towards him.