“Heavenly Father! some poor negro, out fishing, drunk perhaps, fell overboard.” “No; a woman scantily clothed, with streaming yellow hair clinging wet around her swollen limbs. I am sure the body is by this time cast upon the beach.” “A woman with streaming yellow hair,” said Emily, as the memory of Sophie’s vision in the dell crossed her mind. “Can we, Augustus, get away from Sophie in any way, and go down to the beach?” “We must make an excuse of some sort,” said Augustus. His purpose was forestalled—for at that moment the handsome blue carriage and grey horses of Mrs. Gardiner Green stopped before the door; and the lofty lady alighted and entered the house. “How do you do, Mrs. May—and Lieutenant Wilde—well, this is delightful. I am so happy to see you. I must positively have you at the Glade to-morrow evening, to meet a few friends—quite an _improvised_ little affair; but where is Miss Churchill? I am enacting ‘mamma’ to that young lady just at the present crisis; and this morning I wish a private interview with her.” Emily seized this chance—and calling to little Hagar, sent her for Miss Churchill. When Sophie entered the room, she arose, and leaving Mrs. Green to explain her departure, took her brother’s arm, and saying that she would return in half an hour, threw her handkerchief over her head and strolled out into the yard; then quickening their steps, they hastened towards the peak. Descending the cliff by a circuitous path, they reached the beach; and there, immediately under the point of the promontory, they decried an object that, upon nearer approach, they found to be the dead body of a woman. Emily May, pale with awe, knelt down to examine the body—her brother stood in silence by her side. From its extreme emaciation, the body, unlike those of most drowned persons, was not much swollen, but lay slender and extended at length—the arms confined to the waist, and the slight limbs bound together by the winding and clinging of the long yellow hair, that in beating about the waters had got twisted around her. With trembling fingers Emily removed the tress of hair that, wet and sticking to her face, partly concealed the features. She gazed earnestly and sadly upon the extinguished lamp of that dead countenance—the blue-white complexion, the thin sharpened features, the round forehead polished and shining, from very emaciation, the ultra-marine blue eyes, stony and swollen—the small elegant nose, with its delicate and half-transparent nostril—the short and beautifully curved upper lip, drawn up now blue and stiff, and exposing the little pearly teeth—and lastly, the long fine golden hair with its few commingling threads of silver—the extremely small and slender hands, thin now as birds’ claws—the little naked foot, with its curved hollow and proud high instep. “Who _can_ she be?” asked Augustus; “do you know, Emily?”