Floy stepped to the edge of the bank with a strange, mocking laugh on her red lips, and, as if the terrible mania had seized on her suddenly, red-handed and implacable as fate itself, she threw up her arms above her beautiful head, and leaped into the river that divided hungrily to receive the girlish form, then closed again greedily over its prey. CHAPTER V. THE REASON WHY. Pretty Floy’s startling, unexpected, and terrible action produced the effect of a thunder-clap on the gay and thoughtless crowd of young people who witnessed it. A moment of blank, awed silence ensued, then every one seemed to join in a cry of alarm and dismay as they pressed forward to the banks and watched the eddying circles of water over the deep and dangerous spot where that lovely form had disappeared from view. They watched eagerly for the golden head to reappear. Meanwhile, Otho Maury sat motionless gazing at the water, his face marble-white, but in his eyes, beneath their lowered lids, a strange and devilish gleam of joy, as he thought to himself: “How deuced clever in the little girl to hasten the _dénouement_ of her life like this! It saves Maybelle and me a world of trouble.” As for Maybelle, when Floy sprung into the water, she uttered one loud, hysterical shriek, and clutched her companion with both hands, hiding her dark eyes against his shoulder as though she could not bear the sight of the river. But in an instant Beresford recovered from his trance of horror, and struggled to release himself and rise. But Maybelle clung to him so wildly that he could not loosen her grasp without hurting the clinging white hands. “Do not leave me--do not leave me, St. George! I am so frightened!” she wailed, beseechingly. “Otho! Otho!” called Beresford, sternly; and as Maury looked around with a dazed expression, he added: “Come to your sister--I must save that girl!” Otho did not stir from his position, pretending not to understand, and Maybelle tightened her frantic clutch until he saw that he must use gentle force to release himself. “I beg your pardon, but in common humanity I must go,” he said, resolutely, and wrenched himself free, rushing forward, throwing off his coat and hat as he went. Then, amid ringing cheers, the big, handsome fellow plunged into the river. Out of that crowd of perhaps fifty young men he was the only one that had volunteered to save the drowning girl, although half a score of them had pretended to adore her. As Beresford sprung into the water, Floy’s little head suddenly appeared above it some distance away from where she had sunk. He struck out in that direction, shouting to her to be brave, that he would save her life. But at the sound of his voice, the girl’s head suddenly sunk beneath the water again, as though she were determined to accomplish her purpose of suicide. Our hero, swimming with strong and gallant strokes toward the spot, made a bold dive down to the depths, but rose again without Floy.