ren again,
hoping, loving children."

But the girl only buried her face in his bosom, weeping and sobbing.
At this moment a red glare of light shot up into the sky, and Bridget
sprung to her feet.

"I had forgotten. Come, John Bonyton, come and see the only work that
poor little Hope could do to save thee;" and she darted forward with
the eager step which Bonyton so well remembered. As they approached
the falls, the light of the burning tree, kindled by the hands of
Bridget _below_ the falls, flickered and glared upon the waters; the
winds had died away; the stars beamed forth, and nothing mingled with
the roar of waters, save an occasional screech of some nocturnal
creature prowling for its prey.

Ever and ever poured on the untiring flood, till one wondered it did
not pour itself out; and the heart grew oppressed at the vast images
crowding into it, swelling and pressing, as did the tumultuous waves
over their impediment of granite--water, still water, till the nerves
ached from weariness at the perpetual flow, and the mind questioned if
the sound itself were not silence, so lonely was the spell--questioned
if it were stopped if the heart would not cease to beat, and life
become annihilate.

Suddenly the girl stopped with hand pointing to the falls. A black
mass gleamed amid the foam--one wild, fearful yell arose, even above
the roar of waters, and then the waves flowed on as before.

"Tell me, what is this?" cried John Bonyton, seizing the hand of
Bridget, and staying her flight with a strong grasp.

"Ascashe did not know I could plunge under the falls--she did not know
the strength of little Hope, when she heard the name of John Bonyton.
She then went on to tell how she had escaped the cave--how she had
kindled a signal fire _below_ the falls in advance of that to be
kindled above--and how she had dared, alone, the terrors of the
forest, and the black night, that she might once more look upon the
face of her lover. When she had finished, she threw her arms tenderly
around his neck, she pressed her lips to his, and then, with a
gentleness unwonted to her nature, would have disengaged herself from
his arms.

"Why do you leave me, Hope--where will you go?" asked the Sagamore.

She looked up with a face so pale, so hopeless, so mournfully tender,
as was most affecting to behold. "I will go under the falls, and there
sleep--oh! so long will I sleep, John Bonyton.

He folded her like a little child to his boso