“’The de’il when sick, a saint would be,
          But when he got well, the de’il a saint was he.’”

“Don’t, husband,” said Mrs. Middleton; “perhaps she will never come back alive, and then you will be sorry.”

Uncle Joshua readily guessed his wife’s meaning, and turning to Luce, said, “Rout out the whole gang and set ’em to huntin’.”

In less than two hours scores of men on horseback were seen hunting in all directions, looking, as Bob expressed it, “for all the world like they was huntin’ a runaway.”

Ere long the news reached Frankfort, causing Mrs. Carrington to sneeringly advise Dr. Lacey “by all means to join in the hunt.”  He deigned her no reply, but mounting his horse took the road to Mr. Middleton’s, where he was welcomed with tears by Mrs. Middleton and Fanny, whose fears he strove to allay.

Meanwhile the search went on, headed by Uncle Joshua, who, late in the afternoon, unconsciously led a part of the company to the banks of the river, not far from a point called Woodford Landing.  Dismounting, he strolled along the shore for several rods, when suddenly a loud cry turned toward him the attention of the party.  Near the water’s edge he had discovered a shawl, which he knew belonged to Julia, and near by lay a pair of slippers, on the inside of which her name was marked.  Instantly the conviction flashed upon all—­Julia was drowned!

Upon a large flat rock Uncle Joshua sat down, while his long gray locks were tossed by the November wind which swept mournfully by, bearing on its wing the bitter tones with which the stricken father bewailed his loss.  “Everything goes ag’in me,” said he, “everything—­she’s dead and, worse than all, died by her own hand.”  Then, as if void of reason, he arose, and over the craggy hillside and down the dark, rolling river echoed the loud, shrill cry of, “Julia, Julia, oh, my child!  Come back, come back!  Why was you left to break your old father’s heart?” And to that wail of sorrow only the moaning wind replied, and faster the waters of the Kentucky rolled on.

They took the old man home, and long weary days went by, during which the river near the landing was dragged again and again, and still no trace of the missing girl was found.  Then, as hope began to whisper that possibly she was not dead, the papers far and near contained advertisements for her, and by the side of that appeared another for a lunatic girl, who had escaped from the asylum at Lexington.

Four weeks went by, and the waters of the Kentucky frowned angrily “in the gray December light,” making Uncle Joshua shudder whenever he chanced to pass by, and thought perhaps his daughter lay sleeping in their cold embrace.  A gloomy drizzly day was settling into a dark rainy night, when two young men, who, either for business or pleasure, had rowed across the river some miles from Woodford Landing, started to return home.  They had stepped into their boat