Then came a time of horror, for they could climb no higher; and slowly they had seen the water swell and rise till it came nearer and nearer; and at last, giddy with fright, the poor servant had slipped from her hold into the fierce stream. The men hesitated for a moment, but directly after let themselves down, and swam boldly after her. Soon after there came a shout, and then one or two strange, gurgling cries, which chilled the hearer's blood, and then all was silent save the rushing of the river, till voices were heard overhead when her cry for help brought salvation. Times have altered since then, and I often look with pride at the wife who shares my home in the wilderness; and now, years after, in spite of the changes that have taken place, and the safety of person and property in the colony, Mary never hears an unusual noise by night without tremblingly grasping my arm, and listening eagerly, while she recalls the horrors of the deep gully. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. GNASHING OF TEETH. Hush! Be silent! Let this be to you as if whispered under the seal of confession, for it is of the secret, secret. Never let it be known to a soul, or body, let it never even be said aloud, lest some vagrant wind should bear it away, and it become known to the vulgar herd. Hush, listen! Keep it secret. I am a man who has known sorrow and deep affliction. My heart has been broken--broken? no, hammered to pieces-- powdered, till there cannot be a fragment left that has not dissolved away amidst my tears. And how was this, say you? Why, because I loved her. I knew it not at first, but it came upon me imperceptibly, like the pale dawn upon the daisy mead, growing brighter each moment until the sun riseth, and all is one glowing scene of beauty. It was all sunshine then, and earth was brighter day by day in my kindling eye. A new life seemed bursting forth within me. I found charms, where all before was dreary. I slept--but to dream of my beloved image, and awoke but to muse upon her perfections. She was a doctor's little daughter, but the taint of medicine was never upon her, and to love her was a new-born hope. Yes, I dared to hope--presumptuous wretch that I was; but by that which casts the shadow of Wilkie Collins, I will name "No Name." Yes, I hoped that my ardent passion was returned--that is to say that not mine, but another ardent passion was given in exchange. Had not she smiled upon me? and had not her hand rested in mine for an instant, squeezed it, and then gently glided away, while I was bursting with the desire to press my lips upon it? I dared not be too sanguine, but yet hope whispered me that I was loved--that she would be all my own--mine--far off perhaps in the future might the realisation of my wishes be, but I could wait. I was still young, eighteen in a month, and what were a few years, when so peerless a queen awaited me?