A mocking-bird on the opposite shore sent forth a flood of silvery melody. "Hear dat now," muttered Aunt Silly; "dat bird done sendin' forth de weddin' song o' de bridegroom. Come on, Claire Douglass, yo' little bride am waitin' for you more pacifyin' den she waited many a long day." The day following the death of Bernice Mayo was one never to be forgotten by the citizens of Ocala. Claire Douglass had just returned after a year's absence. He found his beautiful cousin (whom his father desired to become his wife) a guest at the home of his parents. "Claire," said his father as they lingered over the breakfast table, "I have a fine, new skiff at Silver Springs, and I wish you to take your cousin for a row this morning; and, by the permission of you young people, I shall make one of your party." "Delightful, uncle," cried the girl; and Claire, while he turned a trifle pale at the thought of returning to the spot where all that had given color to his life had transpired, could only acquiesce. Claire Douglass looked unusually handsome as the party drifted down Silver Springs in the April sunshine, but there was a curious pallor on his face, and the uncle and niece were left to carry on all the conversation. What a contrast the blooming girl in April sunshine bore to the one in the solemn moonlight, who had drifted over the same water the evening before! As the skiff neared Boiling Springs the party noted a little boat hovering over it. The boat was rowed by Aunt Silly; and its other occupant was an old woman, whose eyes were swollen with weeping. The skiff paused beside the little rowboat, and the occupants of each gazed into the curious, transparent depths below. Suddenly the niece cried out, "Oh, see, that looks like a hand; a little human hand!" Plainer and more visible it grew, the little white hand with its gold chain locked above the slender wrist. Ah, little hand, Claire Douglass would have known you among ten thousand hands! His face was white as death and he gasped as though choking. All were intent upon the scene below. Suddenly the boiling of the water ceased, and out upon a rock in its transparent depths, like a broken, beautiful lily, lay Bernice Mayo, her golden hair floating on the sand, her dead face smiling placidly, as if at last a halo of peace had descended upon the tired spirit, and the broken heart had found rest. With a wild cry that pierced even the heart of the mother, who for the last time in life gazed upon the dead face of her child, Claire Douglass dashed overboard, diving deeper, ever deeper, until he caught in his arms the little figure of his dead love. Then once more the rock divided and closed, shutting from view forever the lovers, who lay locked in each other's embrace. And again the water whirled and boiled in its mad fury, as if to defy the puny will of him who would have separated what God had joined together.