“I tell thee, Miles St. Aubyn, that years ago, years ere I had heard of Widecomb or its water, I saw yon deep, red-whirling pool; I saw that drowning youth; I saw the ready rescue, and the gentle nursing; and now,” he cried, stretching his hands out widely, and gazing into vacancy, “I see a wilder and a sadder sight—a deeper pool, a stronger cataract, a fierce storm thundering on the hills, and torrents thundering down every gorge and gully to swell the flooded rivers. A young man and a maiden—yet no! no! not a maiden! mounted on gallant horses, are struggling in the whelming eddies. Great God! avert—hold! hold! He lifts his arm, he smites her with his loaded whip—smites her between the eyes that smile upon him; she falls, she is down, down in the whirling waters—rider and horse swept over the mad cataract; but who—who?—ha!” and with a wild shriek he started to his feet, and fell back into the arms of the young man, who from the beginning of the paroxysm evidently had expected its catastrophe, and who, with the assistance of the girl, supported him, now quite inanimate and powerless, from the room, merely saying to Sir Miles, “Be not alarmed, I will return forthwith.” “My father!” exclaimed Jasper, in a faint voice, as the door closed upon them. The old man turned hastily to the well-known accents, and hurried to the bed-side. “My boy, my own boy, Jasper. Now, may God’s name be praised forever!” And falling into a chair by his pillow, the same chair on which that sweet girl had sat a few hours before, he bent over him, and asked him a thousand questions, waiting for no reply, but bathing his face with his tears, and covering his brow with kisses. When he had at length satisfied the old man that he was well and free from pain, except a few slight bruises, he asked his father eagerly where he was, and who was that strange old man. “You are in the cottage, my dear boy,” replied the old knight, “above Widecomb pool, tended by those who, by the grace of God and his exceeding mercy, saved you from the consequences of the frantic act which so nearly left me childless. Oh! Jasper, Jasper, ’twas a fearful risk, and had well-nigh been fatal.” “It was but one misstep, father,” replied the youth, who, as he rapidly recovered his strength, recovered also his bold speech and daring courage. “Had there been but foot-hold at the tunnel’s end, I had landed my fish bravely; and, on my honor, I believe had I such another on my line’s end, I should risk it again. Why, father, he was at least a thirty pounder.”