"Then by God what have you come away for! have you got the souls of men in you?" exclaimed Eben Williams, in a voice which seemed to shake the very trees, as he plunged onward. "It's no use, doctor," they replied sadly. "We found her boat bottom up, and one of the oars; and it was hours since it capsized." "What then!" he shouted back. "My wife was as strong as any man: she can't have drowned; Hetty can't have drowned;" and his horse's hoofs struck sparks from the stones as he galloped on. A few of the younger men turned back and followed him; but, when they reached the lake, he was nowhere to be seen. Old Caesar, who was sitting on the ground, his head buried on his knees, said: "He wouldn't hear a word. He jest jumped into one of thim boats, and he was gone like lightning: he's 'way across the lake by this time." Silently the young men re-entered their boats and rowed out, carrying torches. Presently they overtook the doctor. "Oh, thank God for that light!" he exclaimed, "Give one to me; let me have it here in my boat: I shall find her." Like a being of superhuman strength, the doctor rowed; no one could keep up with him. Round and round the lake, into every inlet, close under the shadows of the islands; again and again, over every mile of that treacherous, glassy, beautiful water, he rowed, calling every few moments, in heart-breaking tones, "Hetty! Hetty! Hetty! I am here, Hetty!" As the hours wore on, his strength began to flag; he rowed more and more slowly: but, when they begged him to give over the search, and return home, he replied impatiently. "Never! I'll never leave this lake till I find her." It was useless to reason with him. He hardly heard the words. At last, his friends, worn out by the long strain, rowed to the shore, and left him alone. As he bade them good-by, he groaned, "Oh, God! will it never be morning? If only it were light, I am sure I should find some trace of her." But, when the morning broke, the pitiless lake shone clear and still, and all the hopelessness of his search flashed on the bereaved man's mind: he dropped his oars, and gazed vacantly over the rippleless surface. Then he buried his face in his hands, and sat motionless for a long time: he was trying to recall Hetty's last looks, last words. He recollected her last kisses. "It was as if they were to bid me good-bye," he thought. Presently, he took up the oars and rowed back to the shore. Old Caesar still sat there on the ground. The doctor touched him on the shoulder. He lifted a face so wan, so altered, that the doctor started. "My poor old fellow," he said, "you ought not to have sat here all night. We will go home now. There is nothing more to be done."