The route she had determined to pursue lay along the path on the banks of the Serpentine river, over the bridge, and so towards Knightsbridge. As she went on, she admired the gay equipages, and the superb dresses of the fair high-bred creatures borne in them, and no touch of envy mingled with her admiration. Glad of heart herself, she was delighted to see how smiling and happy every one appeared--with what a light, elastic step each one seemed to move, and how deliciously the breeze wafted to her ear the unsaddened ring of childish laughter, when suddenly she came upon the boat-house of the Humane Society. It stood in the gloomy shadow of a cluster of trees upon the bank; near to it was moored a boat, in which lay at rest the formidable looking-instrument employed to rescue the drowning, or to bring up from the cold depths of the river, the dead. A cold thrill ran through her frame as she gazed upon it, and she hastened on. The hue of the still river, before so blue and sparkling in its ripples, now seemed to change--to become leaden and motionless. She remembered the dark night when, with cold, sinking heart, she hurried to leap from an arched height into a river’s chill and fatal embrace, that she might there end in a wakeless sleep, her sorrow and her despair. She remembered the sudden grip of her wrist, the gentle voice in her ear, and the infinite mercy of the great and good God who had saved her in the very moment of committing a mortal sin. A throng of tears gushed into her eyes. She murmured a prayer of thankfulness to Him for His beneficence to her, and a blessing on Hal for his interposition. While the soft words of gratefulness yet stirred her quivering lips, her tearful eyes fell upon the pale features of a young, beautiful, and elegantly dressed lady, who was passing beneath a group of trees, seemingly desirous of screening herself from public gaze, and evidently affected with the deepest sadness. Oh! that terrible expression of despair upon her pallid face--that aspect of blank, hopeless woe-begone desolation, which the most accomplished mime or the vilest cheat could never simulate--how sure and perfect an index is it of the utter misery crushing the prostrated heart of those whose countenances bear its fearful impress! Lotte recognised it. Instantly she felt that so she must have looked when her wretchedness had reached its culminating point. Her easily-awakened sympathy, prompted her to speak to the young lady; but as she advanced with this purpose, she perceived that the object of her interest, observing her, hastily retreated, and hurried away in the direction of Kensington Gardens.