“That you will soon see,” said the girl, and, fearing a more authoritative interference, she gathered up her skirts and planted one dainty foot on the first stepping-stone, another on the next, and so on to the fourth; and if she had been a boy she would have cleared them all.  But holding her skirts instead of keeping her arms to balance herself, and wearing idiotic shoes, her heels slipped on the fifth stone, which was rather slimy, and she fell into the middle of the current with a little scream.

To her amazement she found that the stream, though shallow, carried her off her feet, and though she recovered them, she could not keep them, but was alternately up and down, and driven along, all the time floundering.  Oh, then she screamed with terror, and the poor governess ran screaming too, and making idle clutches from the bank, but powerless to aid.

Then, as the current deepened, the poor girl lost her feet altogether, and was carried on toward the deep water, flinging her arms high and screaming, but powerless.  At first she was buoyed up by her clothes, and particularly by a petticoat of some material that did not drink water.  But as her other clothes became soaked and heavy, she sank to her chin, and death stared her in the face.

She lost hope, and being no common spirit, she gained resignation; she left screaming, and said to Everett, “Pray for me.”

But the next moment hope revived, and fear with it—­this is a law of nature—­for a man, bare-headed and his hair flying, came galloping on a bare-backed pony, shouting and screaming with terror louder than both the women.  He urged the pony furiously to the stream; then the beast planted his feet together, and with the impulse thus given Hope threw himself over the pony’s head into the water, and had his arm round his child in a moment.  He lashed out with the other hand across the stream.  But it was so powerful now as it neared the lasher that they made far more way onward to destruction than they did across the stream; still they did near the bank a little.  But the lasher roared nearer and nearer, and the stream pulled them to it with iron force.  They were close to it now.  Then a willow bough gave them one chance.  Hope grasped it, and pulled with iron strength.  From the bough he got to a branch, and finally clutched the stem of the tree, just as his feet were lifted up by the rushing water, and both lives hung upon that willow-tree.  The girl was on his left arm, and his right arm round the willow.

“Grace,” said he, feigning calmness.  “Put your arm around my neck, Mary.”

“Yes, dear,” said she, firmly.

“Now don’t hurry yourself—­there’s no danger; move slowly across me, and hold my right arm very tight.”

She did so.

“Now take hold of the bank with your left hand; but don’t let go of me.”

“Yes, dear,” said the little heroine, whose fear was gone now she had Hope to take care of her.