"But what became of the light?" asked Harcourt, half desperate with fear and anxiety. "Well, the woman as sews says it went down and down as long as she could see." A faint scream from the house now arrested their attention, and hastening up the bank they heard the servants crying from the upper windows of the mansion, "There it comes! there it comes again!" Harcourt rushed to the second story of the house. A door leading into an apartment facing the river was open, and without a thought he entered and threw open the blinds. Away to the south, where the river enters the Highlands, he saw a faint light, evidently that of the lantern carried in the boat. Familiar with the river, the whole state of things flashed upon him. In the last of the ebb tide their boat had become entangled in the ice, but had been carried down no very great distance. Now that the tide had turned, it was coming back, with the mass of ice in which it had become wedged. And could that faint glimmer indicate the presence of the one who never before had been so dear? Could Miss Martell, the child of luxury, so beautiful and yet so frail and delicate, be out in the darkness and cold of this winter night, perishing perhaps, with the lights of this her elegant home full in view? Then, for the first time, he recognized that the room he was in must be Miss Martell's sleeping apartment. Though the light was low and soft, it revealed an exquisite casket, in keeping with the jewel it had once held, but might no more enshrine. On every side were the evidences of a refined but Christian taste, and also a certain dainty beauty that seemed a part of the maiden herself, she having given to the room something of her own individuality. It would be hard to describe Harcourt's sensation as a hasty glance revealed the character of the place. He felt somewhat as a devout Greek might, had he stumbled into the sacred grotto of his most revered goddess. But this thought was uppermost in his mind,--"Here is where she should be; yonder--terrible thought--is where she is. What can I do?" Again he dashed back to the shore, calling the coachman to follow him. When the man reached the water's edge, he found that Harcourt had broken open the boat-house, and was endeavoring to get out the boat. "Ye'll gain nothing there, wid that big boat," said the coachman. "The master has been away so long that it's all out o' order. The water can get in it as soon as yerself. The young lady's little scollop--the one as is called Naughty Tillus--is sent away for the winter." "Stop your cursed croaking," cried Harcourt, excitedly, "and help me out with this boat. If I can't save her, I can at least drown with her." "Divil a lift will I give ye. It will do the master and young lady no good, and I'll not have your drownding on my conscience."