"Ah, well, my dears, I am in your hands," said Aunt Sophia softly; "but don't take me into danger, please." "All right, auntie--There's one of the prettiest bits," he added, pointing to where the trees on the right bank opened, showing a view of the hills beyond.--"Now, Jack, pull." Ten minutes' sharp rowing brought them up to the stout piles that guarded the entrance to the lock, whose slimy doors were open; and as they approached, they could see the further pair, with the water hissing and spirting through in tiny streams, making a strange echo from the perpendicular stone walls that rose up a dozen feet on either side. "Lock, lock, lock, lock!" shouted Scarlett in his mellow tones, as the boat glided in between the walls, and Aunt Sophia turned pale. "They shut us up here, don't they, James, and then let the water in?" "Till we are on a level with the river above, and then open the other pair," said Scarlett quietly. "Don't be alarmed." "But I am, my dear," said the old lady earnestly. "My nerves are not what they were." "Of course not," said the doctor kindly.--"I wouldn't go through, old fellow," he continued to Scarlett. "Let's paddle about below the weir." "To be sure," said Scarlett, as he saw his aunt's alarm. "I brought you out to enjoy yourselves.--Here--hi!" he cried, standing up in the boat, and making Aunt Sophia lean forward, as if to catch him and save him from going overboard.--"All right, auntie.--Hi!--catch!" he cried to the lock-keeper, throwing him a shilling. "We won't go through." The man did not make an effort to catch the money, but stooped in a heavy dreamy manner to pick it up, staring stolidly at the occupants of the boat. Aunt Sophia uttered a sigh of relief, one that seemed to be echoed from behind her, where Arthur Prayle was seated, looking of a sallow sickly grey, but with his colour rapidly coming back as they reached the open space below the weir, where the water at once seemed to seize the boat and to sweep it downwards, but only to be checked and rowed upwards again towards the weir. "There, auntie, look over the side," cried Scarlett. "Can you see the stones?" "Yes, my dear," said Aunt Sophia, who was evidently mastering a good deal of trepidation. "Is it all shallow like this?" "Oh, no. Up yonder, towards the piles, there are plenty of holes fifteen and twenty feet deep, scoured out by the falling water when it comes over in a flood. See how clear and bright it is." Aunt Sophia sat up rigidly; but her two companions leaned over on each side to look down through the limpid rushing stream at the stones and gravel, over which shot away in fear, shoal after shoal of silvery dace, with here and there some bigger, darker fish that had been lying head to stream, patiently waiting for whatever good might come. "Yes, my dears, it is very beautiful," said Aunt Sophia. "But you are going very near the falling water, James. It will be tumbling in the boat."