cried Foster; “you have her!”

Putting a fury of strength into the effort, Hollingsworth heaved amain, and up came a white swash to the surface of the river. It was the flow of a woman’s garments. A little higher, and we saw her dark hair streaming down the current. Black River of Death, thou hadst yielded up thy victim! Zenobia was found!

Silas Foster laid hold of the body; Hollingsworth likewise grappled with it; and I steered towards the bank, gazing all the while at Zenobia, whose limbs were swaying in the current close at the boat’s side. Arriving near the shore, we all three stept into the water, bore her out, and laid her on the ground beneath a tree.

“Poor child!” said Foster, — and his dry old heart, I verily believe, vouchsafed a tear,