A man bearing a lantern burst into the tent with a hoarse cry. Its gleams showed her Herne the Hunter, drenched, draggled, a ghastly cut across his face, with the blood streaming down, his long hair flying, and in his eyes a fierce flame. “I feared I would not find you,” he shouted, for the roar without was now appalling. “It is a cloud-burst above. In five minutes this hollow will be fathoms deep. The tents lower down are already gone. Come!” He had seized and was bearing her out. “Save--alarm the others!” she cried. “You first--Alice.” In that dread moment she detected the hopelessness with which he called her thus, as though such recognition was wrung from his lips by the pain he hugged, even while it rended him. “My husband?” she gasped, growing faint over the thought of his possible peril--or death. “Safe,” he hissed through his clenched teeth, for his exertions were tremendous. With a fierce flap the tent was swept away as they left it. About his knees the waters swirled, while limbs and other floating débris swept furiously by. What seemed to her minutes--though really seconds--passed amid a terrific jumble of sounds, while the rain fell in sheets. It seemed as though the invisible mountains were dissolving. They were, however, slowly rising above the floods. She heard Herne's hard breathing, and felt his wild heart-throbs as he held her close. Something heavy struck them, or rather him, for he shielded her. One of his arms fell limp, and he groaned heavily. Then she swooned away, with a fleeting sensation of being grasped by some one else. Later, when she revived, there was a great hush in the air. Below, the river gently brawled-; there was a misty darkness around, and the gleam of a lantern held before a dear and familiar form. “Husband--is it you?” she murmured. “Yes, yes,” said Captain Renfro, “I thought I had lost you. You owe your life to Herne the Hunter. In fact, but for him I would have been overwhelmed myself.” “Where is he?” she asked feebly. “The men are searching for him. Just as one of them got hold of you, he fell back--something must have struck him, and the flood swept him off. I tell you, Alice, that man--crazy or not--is a hero. We were on our way down and had camped above the Gap, when the cloud-burst came. We knew you all would be overwhelmed before we could get round here by the trail; so what does Herne do but send us on horseback by land, while he scoots down that Canyon in a canoe--little better than an eggshell. Risked his life in that awful place to get here in time. I insisted on going with him at first.” “Just like you, George,” said the wife fondly, though in her mind's eye came a vision of Herne the Hunter battling with that Niagara to save and unite the two, through whom his own life had been made a burden. She sighed and clasped her husband's hand, while he resumed: