hers, and filled her breast with the air from his
own panting chest. Again and again he renewed these efforts, hoping,
doubting, despairing,--once more hoping, and at last, when he had almost
ceased to hope, she gasped, she breathed, she moaned, and rolled her eyes
wildly round her, she was born again into this mortal life.

He caught her up in his arms, bore her to the house, laid her on a sofa,
and, having spent his strength in this last effort, reeled and fell, and
lay as one over whom have just been whispered the words,

"He is gone."

CHAPTER X.

MR. CLEMENT LINDSAY FINISHES HIS LETTER--WHAT CAME OF IT.

The first thing Clement Lindsay did, when he was fairly himself again,
was to finish his letter to Susan Posey. He took it up where it left
off, "with an affection which----" and drew a long dash, as above. It was
with great effort he wrote the lines which follow, for he had got an ugly
blow on the forehead, and his eyes were "in mourning," as the gentlemen
of the ring say, with unbecoming levity.

"An adventure! Just as I was writing these last words, I heard the cry
of a young person, as it sounded, for help. I ran to the river and
jumped in, and had the pleasure of saving a life. I got some bruises
which have laid me up for a day or two; but I am getting over them very
well now, and you need not worry about me at all. I will write again
soon; so pray do not fret yourself, for I have had no hurt that will
trouble me for any time."

Of course, poor Susan Posey burst out crying, and cried as if her heart
would break. Oh dear! Oh dear! what should she do! He was almost
killed, she knew he was, or he had broken some of his bones. Oh dear! Oh
dear! She would go and see him, there!--she must and would. He would
die, she knew he would,--and so on.

It was a singular testimony to the evident presence of a human element in
Mr. Bytes Gridley that the poor girl, on her extreme trouble, should
think of him as a counsellor. But the wonderful relenting kind of look
on his grave features as he watched the little twins tumbling about his
great books, and certain marks of real sympathy he had sometimes shown
for her in her lesser woes, encouraged her, and she went straight to his
study, letter in hand. She gave a timid knock at the door of that awful
sanctuary.

"Come in, Susan Posey," was its answer, in a pleasant tone. The old
master knew her light step and the maidenly touch of her small hand on