ed girl,
but for a few moments without success: indeed his own strength began to
fail, and it seemed as if both must be precipitated into the stream, if
assistance had not come from another quarter. The gardener hearing the
cries hurried up, and, lending his powerful help, Mary was delivered
from her peril, and was carried, fainting and bruised, into the house by
her two rescuers, before Mark Rothwell had fairly recovered himself from
the fall which John Randolph had given him in his haste. But now,
boiling with wrath and vexation, Mark made his way to the front door,
and disregarding in the blindness of his passion the sight of Mary just
recovering consciousness, and of Mrs Franklin who was bending over her
in mingled grief and thankfulness, he turned furiously upon John, who
was just retiring, and shaking his fist in his face, cried out:

"How dare you interfere with me, sir? I'll not put up with this
insolence from my sisters' discarded music-master."

The face of the other flushed crimson for a moment, then with unruffled
voice he replied:

"Better, Mr Mark, to be a master of music and of one's self, than a
slave of the drink. I wish you good evening."

CHAPTER NINE.

THE CRISIS.

Several weeks had passed by after the accident and timely rescue, weeks
of anxious watching and tender nursing, before Mary Franklin was
sufficiently recovered from the shock and injuries she had received to
appear again among her friends. Many had been the inquiries made by
Mark and Mr Tankardew, and once or twice by John Randolph.

It was on a calm Sabbath morning that mother and daughter first walked
beyond their own grounds, and made their way to the little village
church. Public thanks were offered that day for Mary's wonderful
preservation, and many a loving eye looked through tears at the pale,
serene face of her who had been so mercifully rescued. Was Mark
Rothwell there?--no; but there was one who could not help gazing for a
few moments, with a deeper sentiment than admiring pity, at the fair
young girl, as the words of holy praise "for the late mercies vouchsafed
unto her" were uttered by the minister: it was John Randolph. They met
after service at the gate of the churchyard, and the young man having
expressed his heartfelt congratulations, after a moment's hesitation
offered Mary his arm, which she gently declined. A slight shade of
mingled shame, sadness, and annoyance clouded his face for a moment, and
a