onwards, whelming trees, houses, and meadows in its impetuous flow. It is nearing a large oak, reaches its topmost boughs, and in an instant the tree is whirled onwards, roots uppermost; a farmyard, with its ricks and linheys, is before it; and presently a mass of stone and straw is sucked in and driven round in the eddies. Onwards it flows and gurges; nearer and nearer now to the old bridge. For a moment it is seen standing with its hoar stones and ivy-covered buttresses-then the waters are upon it-they beat and surge against it. There is a louder roar, a heavier rush, and the old greystones-the old timeworn buttresses-are hurled from their foundations, and borne on in the maelstrom whirl of waters. The dog had stood on the bridge, hesitating whether to come or go, until it was too late, and the flood swept him away. His master and Quamino shouted and waved to encourage him; and when last seen he was lifting his head boldly, and battling bravely with the waves. Saddened by the fate of this old faithful servant, Trevenna went on to the trysting-place. Hour passed on hour, yet no one came. 'Twas true that the river might have swollen just before he came to pass the ford, and stopped him. There was as much cause for hope as fear; yet dark forebodings came over them, and the night was passed in dread suspense. In the morning the waters had subsided to their usual height, leaving the fields and meadows strewn with wreck, like the bottom of the sea. Heaps of stone and timber, bee-hives, trees, sheep-folds, gates, lay scattered here and there; and the whole ground was covered and lain with matted fragments of hay, and straw, and mould. Trevenna and Quamino passed back easily by the ford, and as their safety had been seen and notified to the family, there had been little or no uneasiness. After the first greetings, however, Rose turned round and said, "But where is Domingo?"

"Ah, Missey Rose," half blubbered Quamino, "him gone-poor ole fella, him took away in de flood yesterday. Me see him lift his head one minute, and gib one leetle bark, as much as say, Give my love to Missey Rose, and

den me see him no more-dem his last words."

Poor Rose-the sweet blue eyes were filling with tears, and her young bosom was heaving with sobs at hearing of the loss of her stanch old friend and guard, when a scraping and whining were heard at the door.

"Dat him duppy-dat old Domingo's duppy," said Quamino, with a scared look.

The door was opened, and in stalked the dog, or rather the spectre of the dog-so gaunt and lank was he, so hollow-eyed, his coat so matted and worn. Rose leaped upon him at once, threw her arms round his neck, kissed and hugged him, crying out— "Oh my dear old friend, you are safe, you are not drowned." And the dog, as if overcome with the like feeling, put his huge paw on her shoulder, licked her face and neck over and over, whining with joy. Quamino, in the eagerness of welcome, placed a large platter of food before him, saying, Dere, ole fella, eat on as long as good skin hold-you want some ballast, me tink."

The dog, as if understanding the words, set to at his meal: that finished, he began to look round restlessly and wistfully for his master; then, hardly answering his caresses, he moved out through the door, whining and stopping at times to see if they followed. Come, Quamino-come along," said Trevenna at last, "the dog has something to show and tell. God grant it be not what I forebode."

On went the dog, slowly and steadily, towards the river, they following, until they came to a part below the ford, called the Cadger's Pool. There the dog sat on the bank, looked steadily on the opposite shore, and howled.

"He sees something," said Trevenna; "go-run-Quanimo, get men with the drag-nets at once. The pool must be dragged-we must know the meaning of this, good or bad."

The Cadger's Pool, so named from a cadger having been drowned in it, was a dark gloomy spot, where, after a bright rapid flow, the river stagnated for a while, and lay in black heavy stillness-a stillness so great, that no breeze ever seemed to stir it;

ever

a blackness so thick, that no eye ever penetrated to the bottom. Black rocks, overgrown with stunted brushwood, shelved down towards, and threw their shadows on it. It was a place avoided by schoolboys and anglers generally. There was a superstitious belief that no fish ever lay there none, certainly, were caught. The men and the nets came at last. The pool is dragged again and again; nought is found or seen; yet still the dog looks at one spot on the opposite shore, and howls. At last an old veteran salmon-fisher, well used to fathom the waters with his eye, goes over, lies down on the rock, and there, on a jutting point, sees something hanging and floating; the grapnel is thrown down-missescatches-and upwards is drawn the body of a man-a young, dark, powerful man, for death had smoothed out the wrinkles and the scars. He is laid on the bank-a cry is uttered that something has been found-all rush across, Trevenna among the rest. One look-it is enough; and forth from his heart goes the bitter cry-heard by few, perhaps by none, "Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh-my son, my son!" and the strong man totters away to sorrow and weep alone.

The man, the poor wretched man,

had been crossing the ford when the flood came, and had been caught in its rush. By what mysterious instinct the dog knew of his fate-whether in his own swim for life he had seen the man struggling or the body hanging, who can tell? Ay, who can tell, save He who planted the instinct? The body was found-that was enough for the many. "Found drowned," was the sentence by which the fact and the fate were recorded among men.

Trevenna sat in his room-the darkness of old times had overcast him; his heart was heavy even to rebellion-rebellion against the doom of retribution which had fallen so suddenly on him, when hope was breaking on him--hope that the consequences of his sin might yet be redeemed in happiness. He sorrowed as one who would not be comforted. The door opened, and Rose glided in silently, for she felt the presence of grief, and threw her arms gently round his neck, placed her soft cheek. on his, and murmured soft loving words in his ear, which were to his soul as the strains of David's harp were to Saul's.

The man looked up from the depth of his sorrow, and saw only "light on his hearth."