“Turn back, my man, with ladder and light,” he called out, without stopping; and the man, seeing something unusual was astir or amiss, followed at a canter without question. At Irk Bridge the librarian took the light from the man, and swung it to cast its reflection over the Irwell; but nothing was to be seen or heard but the full river, and the wash of its waters. To cross the bridge, in fear that the boy was beyond help, was but the work of a moment. Slower, along the wooden railing of the Irk embankment, he held the lamp low. There was neither eddy or bubble on the water to tell where a drowning mortal had gone down. “Jabez! Jabez Clegg!” he cried, but there was no response. Again and again he raised his voice—“Jabez! Jabez!” The only answer was from an advancing crowd, with Parson Brookes and Tabitha in their midst, who had rushed to the rescue with ropes and poles down the bridge at Mill Brow. “I fear it’s no use, Parson Brookes,” said the librarian sadly; “the river’s high, and poor Jabez may have been drifting past Stannyhurst before we were out of the College Yard.” “Jabez!” exclaimed Joshua aghast, “you cannot mean that Jabez Clegg is the boy drowned!” and he staggered as if some one had struck him. “Indeed, Parson, if this boy speaks truth, I fear it is so,” and he turned to question his informant; but Kit Townley, seeing his impulsive schoolmaster approach, had edged away, and was gone. Gruff Joshua drew the back of his hand across his shaggy brows. “And so the greedy river has swallowed the bright lad at last! He was a boy of promise, Dr. Stone, and his untimely fate is a—a—trouble to me;” and the rough Parson’s harsh voice shook with emotion. “I baptised him, Doctor, and I hoped to see him grow up a credit to us all.” They, and the dispersing crowd, seeing the uselessness of longer stay, were moving on towards Mill Brow as he spoke. “Who’s this?” he cried as they neared the bridge, and a working woman, her hair flying loose from the kerchief on her head, rushed across it with an impetus gained in the steep descent. It was Bess, with Simon at her heels, close as his stiff rheumatic limbs would carry him. She wrung her hands bitterly. “Is it true?” she cried in anguish, “is it true? Oh, Parson Brucks, is it true that ar Jabez is dreawnded?” There was the same choking in his voice as he answered— “I’m afraid so, Bess.” Simon’s voice now broke in. “But are yo’ sartain, Parson? Ar Jabez couldn swim loike a duck. An’ how cam he i’ th’ wayther, aw shouldn loike to know?” “Swim, did you say?” interrogated Dr. Stone. “Then there may be hope yet. If the eddies would not let him land at Waterworth Field, he might swim ashore at Stannyhurst.” “Pray God it be so!” ejaculated Bess, from a full heart. Dr. Stone, hurrying forward, continued: “Follow me to the College for lanterns to renew the search.” And no second invitation was needed.