When he first sprung into the river the little dark head was going down beneath the waves. He was compelled to dive twice before he succeeded in retaining a hold upon her. When, after a desperate struggle, he succeeded in holding her above the water, he was almost exhausted himself. He feared that he would succumb to the dreadful cold himself before assistance could arrive. The forethought of the man who had so fortunately brought ropes stood him in good stead now. A little longer in the cold waves must have exhausted his remaining strength. He was frightened when they were drawn out of the water, and he saw Aline’s face clearly. It was pinched and blue, and the parted lips and closed eyelids looked like death. Had he been too late? he asked himself, anxiously. He saw the unconscious form placed in the vehicle, and driven away toward home with a silent, speechless trouble in his heart. His thoughts followed her, in fancy, to that little white chamber where her parents and the old family doctor hung anxiously over her, trying to infuse life into the chill and rigid form, that seemed as if it would never breathe the warm breath of life again. “Oh, that I had never taken her to that fatal river! She would not have gone if I had not urged it!” cried poor Mrs. Rodney, wringing her white hands in despair. She remembered the old fortune teller’s strange words: “The clouds that overhang your future are so dark and heavy I cannot pierce their gloom. Perhaps the sun may shine for you again, perhaps never!” “It was a true prognostication! That old crone did, indeed, read the cards of fate truly! It was the shadow of death that hung over my poor darling!” cried the anguished mother in mingled grief and wonder. But she was wrong. The tangled thread of poor Aline’s life was not broken yet. Her little feet were not done wandering yet through the weary mazes of the world. Insensibly a little warmth began to creep about the poor chilled body, under the stress of their patient endeavors, a faint pulse fluttered about her heart, and at length the black fringe of the lashes trembled feebly against her cheeks. The old physician, standing anxiously over her, with his hand upon the blue-veined wrist, looked up, and said, kindly, to the distracted mother: “Thank God, she revives! She will live!” CHAPTER XLI. “Aline, you have not asked me who saved your life, yet?” “No, mamma.” It was the morning after Aline’s almost fatal accident, and she was sitting up in an easy-chair before the fire, in a pretty, bright blue wrapper. She was very pale and quiet. She had been listening to her mother, who had been telling her the details of her rescue, and who now remarked in wonder: “Aline, you have not asked me who saved your life, yet.” “No, mamma,” the girl answered, in a tone of visible embarrassment, while a faint color rose to her cheeks. “I should think you would be curious over it,” said Mrs. Rodney, in a tone of slight disappointment.