“Where, where?” the blind man asked, and his face shone with the intense longing he felt to hold once more within his hand the fair blossoms so interwoven with memories of his boyhood. “They are here on the river,” Alice replied, “and I can get them, too, by going out upon that tree which has partly fallen into the stream.” “Don’t, Alice—don’t! There may be danger,” Mr. Warren said, shuddering even while he spoke with an undefinable fear. But Alice was not afraid, and springing lightly upon the trunk of the tree she ventured out—farther, and farther still, until the lilies were just within her reach, when, alas, the branch against which she leaned was broken, and to the ear of the blind man sitting on the grass there came the startling cry of “Father!” while a heavy splash in the deep, dark water, told that Alice was gone. In wild agony the distracted man ran to the water’s edge and unhesitatingly waded in, shrieking, as he did so: “My child! my child! Is there no eye to pity, no arm to save?” Yes, there was an eye to pity, and it raised up an arm to save; for, rushing from a clump of alders which grew not far away, there came a rough, hard-featured man, who, catching up Mr. Warren as if he had been a child, bore him back to the grassy bank, then boldly plunging into the river, he seized the long tresses of the drowning girl, just as they were disappearing for the third and last time. Wringing the water from her brown hair, the stranger folded his light burden gently to his bosom, and bending over her still, white face, looked earnestly to see if she were dead. There was yet life, he hoped, and swimming to the shore, he laid the unconscious maiden upon the grass, resting her head in the lap of her father, who cried: “Is she dead—oh, tell me, is she dead!” But the stranger made him no reply, save to take his hand and lay it on the little heart which was beating faintly. Then with rapid footsteps he walked away, half pausing once as he heard the poor old man call after him imploringly. “Don’t leave me all alone, for I am blind, and Alice’s heart will stop beating, I’m afraid. It has stopped beating! She’s dead! oh, she’s dead!” he screamed, as in the distance he heard the tramping footsteps going from him fast. Still though he knew it not, they went for him, and Mr. Howland, whom chance had led that way, was surprised in his walk by the sudden appearance of a man with uncovered head and dripping garments, who bade him hasten to the river bank, where a young girl, he feared, was drowned. “I am going for a physician,” he said, and he sped away, while Mr. Howland hurried on to the spot where Alice still lay insensible, and whiter than the lilies for which she had risked her life. Over her bent the poor old man, his tears falling like rain upon her face, and himself whispering sadly: