River Cottage was one of the prettiest spots on the banks of the James, and so far away from any other habitation that it was lonely to the last degree; yet embowered in trees and vines and flowers, and lulled by the murmuring voice of the majestic river, its inhabitants were so happy and content that they did not pine for the world that at a little distance surged busily around them. The family consisted of but two--Mrs. Franklyn, a lovely old woman somewhat past fifty, and her grandson, a youth of twenty-three years. Here at River Cottage they lived quietly together on a modest competency, the woman with her sad face and dreamy eyes absorbed altogether in dreams of her past and in tender care for Chester, the blue-eyed boy under whose crown of yellow curls throbbed the restless brain of a genius that was beginning to express itself in dainty bits of verse--the first callow flights of ambition. The boy was restless. Genius was beginning to burn. Sometimes he walked the floor for hours while the midnight oil burned on his study table. At times he loved to walk on the banks of the river, setting his beautiful thoughts to the music of its melodious rhythm. On that dark, cold night Chester had wandered from the cottage porch down to the river's edge, and so he caught with startled ears the sound of that sullen splash into the waves--caught the sound, and scarce a minute later saw, with keen eyes strained into the gloom, a body floating in the river past the cottage. "A suicide!" he muttered, in a voice of horror. The next minute he threw off his coat and shoes and plunged into the stream. It was a brave deed, and sometimes in the anguished months that came afterward Chester wondered if he would have risked so much could he but have known all that was to follow on this night--the full draught of life's chalice filled to the brim with love and pain that he was to quaff. But no presentiment of the future came to him now as he struggled in the almost freezing waves until he caught and held the form drifting rapidly from him, and by almost superhuman efforts drew it with him to the shore. Mrs. Franklyn always dwelt with loving pride on that night when the cottage door was pushed open and her brave boy staggered in with his unconscious burden, both of them dripping water upon her pretty ingrain carpet, and Chester faltered weakly: "I--I have saved--some one--from the river!" Then he fell upon the floor, too exhausted to utter another word. Mrs. Franklyn did not look at the stranger at first. She hastened to revive Chester by pouring some wine between his pale lips and chattering teeth. As soon as he could he sat up, saying, anxiously: "There, grandma! I'm all right. See about the woman, please."