ong, when a
sudden squall struck the sail, and in an instant the skiff was upset and
went down. No shrieks were heard--and the boatman swam ashore; but a
figure was seen struggling where the sail disappeared--and starting from
his knees, he who knew not fear plunged into the Lake, and after
desperate exertions brought the drowned creature to the side--a female
meanly attired--seemingly a stranger--and so attenuated that it was
plain she must have been in a dying state, and had she not thus
perished, would have had but few days to live. The hair was grey--but
the face, though withered, was not old--and as she lay on the
greensward, the features were beautiful as well as calm in the sunshine.

He stood over her awhile--as if struck motionless--and then kneeling
beside the body, kissed its lips and eyes--and said only, "It is Lucy!"

The old man was close by--and so was that child. They too knelt--and the
passion of the mourner held him dumb, with his face close to the face of
death--ghastly its glare beside the sleep that knows no waking, and is
forsaken by all dreams. He opened the bosom--wasted to the bone--in the
idle thought that she might yet breathe--and a paper dropt out into his
hand, which he read aloud to himself--unconscious that any one was near.
"I am fast dying--and desire to die at your feet. Perhaps you will spurn
me--it is right you should; but you will see how sorrow has killed the
wicked wretch who was once your wife. I have lived in humble servitude
for five years, and have suffered great hardships. I think I am a
penitent--and have been told by religious persons that I may hope for
pardon from Heaven! Oh! that you would forgive me too! and let me have
one look at our Lucy. I will linger about the Field of Flowers--perhaps
you will come there, and see me lie down and die on the very spot where
we passed a summer day the week of our marriage."

"Not thus could I have kissed thy lips--Lucy--had they been red with
life. White are they--and white must they long have been! No pollution
on them--nor on that poor bosom now. Contrite tears had long since
washed out thy sin. A feeble hand traced these lines--and in them a
humble heart said nothing but God's truth. Child--behold your mother.
Art thou afraid to touch the dead?"

"No--father--I am not afraid to kiss her lips--as you did now.
Sometimes, when you thought me asleep, I have heard you praying for my
mother."

"Oh! child! cease--cease--or my heart