seizes the rein, and succeeds in stopping her; as he does so, I
approached near enough to recognise his features--

[Illustration: page338 Lovers Leap]

Unlooked for happiness! Fanny is saved, and Harry Oaklands is her
preserver!

My first act on joining them was to spring from my horse and lift Fanny
out of the saddle. "Are you really unhurt, my own darling?" exclaimed I;
"can you stand without assistance?"

"Oh yes!" she replied, "it was only the fright--that dreadful
river--but--" and raising her eyes timidly she advanced a step towards
Oaklands.

"But you would fain thank Harry for saving you. My dear Harry,"
continued I, taking his hand and pressing it warmly, "if you only knew
the agony of mind I have suffered on her account, you would be able to
form some slight idea of the amount of gratitude I feel towards you for
having rescued her. I shudder to think what might have been the end had
you not so providentially interposed; but you do not listen to me--you
turn as pale as ashes--are you ill?"

"It is nothing--a little faint, or so," was his reply, in a voice
so weak as to be scarcely audible; and as he spoke, his head dropped
heavily on his shoulder, and he would have fallen from his horse had not
I caught him in my arms and supported him.

~339~~ Giving the horses into the custody of a farming lad (who had
seen the leap, and run up, fearing some accident had occurred), I lifted
Oaklands from the saddle, and laying him on the turf by the roadside,
supported his head against my knee, while I endeavoured to loosen
his neckcloth. Neither its removal, however, nor the unfastening his
shirt-collar, appeared to revive him in the slightest degree, and being
quite unaccustomed to seizures of this nature, I began to feel a good
deal frightened about him. I suppose my face in some degree betrayed
my thoughts, as Fanny, after glancing at me for a moment, exclaimed,
wringing her hands in the excess of her grief and alarm, "Oh! he is
dead--he is dead; and it is I who have killed him!" Then, flinging
herself on her knees by his side, and taking his hand between both her
own, she continued, "Oh, Harry, look up--speak to me--only one word;--he
does not hear me--he will never speak again! Oh! he is dead!--he is
dead! and it is I who have murdered him--I, who would gladly have died
for him, as he has died for me." As she said this, her voice failed
her, and, completely overcome by the idea that she had been the cause of
H