Alice began to cry, and whimpered that her dress was spoiled, and said some of them ought not to have come; there were too many in the boat, and she knew it all the while. “Why didn’t you stay out, then?” Julia asked; and then Alice cried harder, and wrung her hands in fear as peal after peal of thunder rolled over their heads and crashed up the mountain side, while the lurid lightning, flash after flash, broke through the inky sky, and blinding sheets of rain and wind swept down the river, threatening each moment to engulf the boat, as yet riding the waves so bravely. It was a terrible storm, and seemed to increase each moment, while the white faces looked at each other anxiously, and the pale lips made no sound until Godfrey’s oar snapped in two, and a wave carried it far out upon the angry waters. Then Alice shrieked: “We are lost; we shall all be drowned,” and bounding up she lost her balance and fell heavily across one side of the boat, which was instantly upset, and six human beings were struggling madly in the river. “Godfrey, Godfrey,” two voices called above the storm, one loud, piercing and peremptory as if it had the right, the other tender, beseeching and low, as of a spirit going out into the darkness and saying a farewell to one it had loved so fondly. Two voices called, “Godfrey, Godfrey,” above the storm; but Godfrey heard only one, and freeing himself from something which held him fast, and which in his mad excitement he did not know was a pair of clinging hands, he struck out for the place where, just above the water, he caught one glimpse of a white, scared face, and tresses of long bright hair disappearing from his sight. With a courage and energy born of love and despair he reached the spot, and plunging his hand beneath the wave, reached for the long bright hair, felt it, clutched it firmly, and drew again into view the pallid face on which the hue of death had settled, and winding his arm about the slender waist, swam for the shore, which was fortunately so near that his feet soon touched the bottom, and he struggled up the bank with his unconscious burden. Laying it gently down, and pressing one kiss upon the white lips, he turned to retrace his steps, for a thought of Alice and his sisters had come over him, but when he saw them at some little distance down the river, struggling on their feet, he went back to Gertie, who lay in the same death-like swoon, with her hands folded upon her breast, and a smile wreathing her lips, as if her last thought had been one of peace and happiness. Very gently Godfrey lifted her up, and wringing the water from her hair, held her head upon his breast while he showered kiss after kiss upon her forehead and lips, murmuring as he did so: “Gertie, my darling, you cannot, you must not be dead. Oh, Gertie, open your eyes on me once, and hear me tell how much I love you.”