“Eugene Wrayburn went the opposite way, with his hands behind him, and his purpose in his thoughts. He passed the sheep, and passed the gate, and came within hearing of the village sounds, and came to the bridge. The inn where he stayed, like the village and the mill, was not across the river, but on that side of the stream on which he walked . . . feeling out of humour for noise or company, he crossed the bridge, and sauntered on: looking up at the stars as they seemed one by one to be kindled in the sky, and looking down at the river as the same stars seemed to be kindled deep in the water. A landing-place overshadowed by a willow, and a pleasant boat lying moored there among some stakes, caught his eye as he passed along.” Thus it will be seen how Eugene, following the _west bank_ of the Thames to Henley, and thereafter crossing Henley Bridge, pursued the course of his meditations past the landing-place on the opposite side, walking onwards by the towpath thence continued, in the direction of POPLAR POINT. The Murderous Attack upon him by Headstone, in the darkening shades of nightfall, must have here occurred, not far from the bridge, and opposite to the town, Wrayburn being thrown into the river by his assailant, and so left for dead. Lizzie Hexam, endeavouring to regain composure, went towards Marsh, and must have crossed by The Lock Gates to the main road beyond, turning in the direction of Henley. She thereafter walked slowly onwards in the neighbourhood of the bridge at its eastern side, and thus unconsciously came again near to, and following behind, her lover, on the Eastern Tow Path beyond the bridge, as above mentioned. Hereabouts, hearing “the sound of blows, a faint groan, and a fall into the river,” she ran towards the spot from which the sounds had come—not far distant, on the riverside path, northward from the bridge. We are all familiar with the story of Lizzie’s heroic rescue of Eugene from the river. Finding a boat on the north side of HENLEY BRIDGE— “She passed the scene of the struggle—yonder it was—on her left, well over the boat’s stern—she passed on her right the end of the village street (New Street) . . . looking as the boat drove, everywhere, everywhere for the floating face.” Finding and recovering the body, she rowed “back against the stream,” landing at the lawn of the RED LION INN as previously described. The Rambler may now take a short trip by boat down the river six miles from Henley, for visiting THE LOCK where _Rogue Riderhood_ acted for a time, as deputy superintendent.