The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals. Ann S. Stephens

with the oars.

      "There is nothing to fear now sweet lady," he said, in Italian, which never sounded so sweet to her before. "The danger is wholly past—but it was danger!"

      Caroline shuddered; she almost felt those curling waters sweep over her. The sensation was terrible.

      "And you saved me?—you, whose face I have seen before so often, so often. It seems like that of a friend."

      "Once—only once. I wish it had been a thousand times, if that could lessen your fright."

      "Tell me how it was," said Caroline, beginning to recover herself. "I cannot realize it."

      "Nor I, sweet lady, it was all so sudden. I saw a boat whirling toward that treacherous vortex, the flash of a blue mantle, the whiteness of an upturned face. What I did, you know. I cannot tell how it was done; did not dream who the person was. Now, I long to fall upon my knees and thank God."

      Caroline clasped the hands which had fallen to her lap, bent her head, and unspoken words of thanksgiving trembled in her heart. The man looked upon her eagerly. That gentle glow of devotion gave her face the sweetness of a madonna.

      He thought this, and almost dropped the oars, the longing to fall down upon his knees by her side was so intense.

      She saw this, understood it, and smiled for the first time.

      "I was asking God to forgive me for being grateful to you before I thought of Him."

      "And I was asking Him to make me grateful enough for having saved you. Surely that should bring his blessing on us both."

      Caroline bent her head, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. Then she bethought herself of the things of this world, and grew troubled.

      "But I am taking you from your course. Forgive me!"

      "From my course? Not so. It was for this purpose I come. Perhaps you are not informed that I am to make your Italian more perfect than it is, which is scarcely needed."

      "You sir!—you?"

      She said no more, but her face lighted up, and he saw her hands softly clasp themselves, as if she were thanking God over again. Then his own head bent forward, and he made a great effort with the oars, but it was only to hide the smile that broke over it.

      So up the little river these two people went more and more slowly, for the stillness and the beauty were pleasant beyond anything, and both dreaded the moment when this delicious happiness would end. But they reached the steps at last, and there was Mr. Brown and Eliza, on the lower terrace, in great trouble.

      They had missed her and the boat. Dreading they scarcely knew what danger, both were anxious to follow her, but they had no means. Thus an hour of keen anxiety had passed, while they stood watching the river.

      "There is your father, looking anxious," said the young man. "I hope he has not suffered much."

      Caroline did not answer him, but sprang to the steps and ran up them, holding out her hands.

      "My child! my dear, dear child!" cried Brown, throwing both arms around her.

      He often used endearing terms like this when much affected, and she thought nothing of it, but kissed his face, and kissed Eliza also, who scolded her terribly, as was her habit when disturbed by a sudden fit of tenderness—a state of feeling she was sure to resent.

      "Father Brown, this is my new teacher. The professor sent him. He has just saved my life. I have tried to thank him, but could not. You have more power."

      Brown and Eliza both came close to the young man; but he shook his head, and tried to evade them. After her tender thankfulness, their gratitude, generous and pure as it was, seemed coarse to him.

      "We must begin the lesson," he said, laughing, and drawing a book from his pocket. "This little accident, which was nothing, has made us lose time."

      He said this in Italian, which, of course, silenced them; and at this moment the man could say nothing which his companion would not confirm.

      Caroline smiled, and went up the steps from terrace to terrace, while he kept by her side. Her color had come back more vividly than ever. The sunshine struck her hair, and turned all its brown to gold. She was dressed like a peasant of the better class, with some scarlet in her blue bodice, and more bordering the bottom of her skirt. Her neck was uncovered, for the blue mantle had fallen off and now lay in the bottom of the boat. It was a becoming dress, but not for her—she was too queenly.

      They went into that old stone dwelling, forming one group; but the moment the parlor was reached, Eliza went off to her work, she said—but if any one had followed her, it would have been to a chamber under the roof, where she was upon her knees full twenty minutes, thanking God for Caroline's escape from death.

      Then Brown went away, and seated himself in an arbor on one of the terraces, where he was seen once or twice to take out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes, as if the dust troubled him.