upward, "those small lead-colored clouds, how darkly | down the stream, right and left, with despair in his they drift together! Did you ever see a flock of pigeons flying over the western woods, Mr. Benson ?" glances. "Where is she? What can have become of her?" "Knew she wouldn't do it," muttered Ben, with his he cried out at last, sinking forward on his oars, and eyes bent on the clouds. allowing the boat to struggle for herself against the "See, see!” cried the girl. "The sky is black-I wind. have seen the same thing!" "But them was nothing but innocent birds a flying after something to eat," said Ben, "These ere clouds, Miss Agnes, has got a good many unroofed housen', and shipwrecks, and trees broken in two, and torn up by the roots, in 'em, to say nothing of this ere boat as may be upsot any minute." "At home, no doubt," answered the girl, struck with a selfish thought, in which there was hope of safety. "How! What?" exclaimed Ben, fiercely, "at home!" "No doubt she left her boat in some cove and went home along the shore," persisted the girl. "She would be sure to put in somewhere!" "Ben's face lighted up, and his eyes glowed with The girl turned pale; her black eyes shone with sud- hope. den fear. "It may be of course it is. She went back long "Do you think there is really any danger, Mr. Ben- ago, no doubt on it," he exclaimed, joyfully. “Why son ?" "Danger? Of course there's danger! What did I follow arter that little boat for, if there wasn't no danger ?" 66 Perhaps perhaps," said Agnes tremulously, "it would be safer on shore. The walk will not be much now. What do you say to running ashore ?" "There'll be a howling among the rocks afore you get round the first point, that 'ud take your breath; besides, when the winds begin to rush ther'll be a crashing down of trees, and broken limbs will be flying thick enough. No, no-unsartain as the river is, you'd better keep still. I don't want your death on my conscience, any how." "But can you swim if we should capsize?" questioned Agnes, growing pale and cold. Swim, can Ben Benson swim?" cried the boatman with a hoarse laugh. "Well, I should think that he can swim a trifle." Ben Benson, what a precious old fool you was not to think of that. Miss Agnes, I'll set you ashore now anywhere you'll pint out, if the boat lives through the operation." "Now, now!" cried the girl, breathless with terror, "strike for land anywhere-I know the shore. Only put me on dry land again-it's all I ask." Ben altered his course with a great effort, and forced a passage to the broken shore. He was too busy in preserving his boat from being dashed upon the rocks, to remark with what eager selfishness the girl left him, only uttering a quick ejaculation, and darting away without thanks. By the time he could look around she had plunged into a neighboring ravine, and he saw no more of her. Though the current was running high against him, Ben had the whole force of the wind to urge him on, and his steady seamanship made the progress up The girl fixed her black eyes upon him. They were stream less dangerous than the descent had been. But large and bright with terror. Fast, pull fast," she said, "let me help you-is there anything in which I can help you? How slow the boat goes-pull, pull!” the toil was great and every muscle of his brawny arms rose to its full strain as he bent all his strength upon the oars. But with his greatest anxieties at rest Ben cared little for this. With no life but his own at stake, "We are agin the wind, and its getting strongish," the tempest was nothing to the brave man. answered Ben. "What can we do?" cried out the girl clasping her hands. "Hear how it howls-how the trees begin to moan! Is not the storm at its height now?" "You'll see by and by," said Ben, bowing his moist forehead down to the sleeve of his jacket, and wiping away the perspiration that was now falling from it like rain. "Oh, what will become of us?" shrieked the girl. "What has become of her?" echoed Ben, casting sharp despairing glances toward the shore, which was now darkened, and in a turmoil. "There is my home-there, there, on the side hill. A light is just struck in the window. Set me on shoreoh, Mr. Benson, do set me on shore!" But it grew terrible. The boat was more than once hurled out of water. The waves dashed over him; the winds carried off his hat and beat fiercely against his head, sweeping the long hair over his face. Again and again the current swept his boat around, drifting it back with a force he could not resist, sometimes close to the shore, sometimes out in the torrent of waters. was impossible now to see his course, except by the lightning. The entire darkness baffled him more than the storm. It Once when the boat was seized upon and hurled backward. Ben saw innumerable lights sweeping by in the fog between him and the shore, and he uttered a shout of wild thanksgiving that the steamer had not run him down. As the water heaved him to and fro, a "Not till I find her," answered Ben, resolutely, "you glare of lightning revealed this monster boat, moving would get in, so make the best of it." The girl grew white as death. downward, and-oh, horror of horrors! Mabel Harrington, just as the vortex engulphed her. Two white "Let me ashore, or it will be my death-I am sick arms were flung upward. Her hair streamed in the with terror," she pleaded. lightning. The deathly white face was turned shore Ben did not appear to listen. He was looking wildly ward. The might of twenty men was in his arms then. He flung back the rushing waves with his oars, and from a will fiercer than his strength, forced his boat toward her. In a minute the darkness of death was around him. Blasts of wind and great gushes of rain swept over him. He shouted aloud. He beat the waters madly with his oars. He called upon God for one more flash of lightning. It came. He saw a distant steamer, an up-turned boat, and something darker than the foam heaving upon the waters. "Hold on! Hold on!-I'm coming-I'm coming it's Ben-it's Ben. Oh God, give me light!" He was answered. A crash of thunder-a trail of fire-and an old cedar tree on the shore flamed up with the light he had prayed for. It flamed up and Ben saw a man plunge from the rocks into the boiling waters. He bent to the oar, his boat rushed through the waves, and as he came one way, that white face moved steadily from the shore The waters were buffeted fiercely around it. Some mighty power seemed to sweep back the storm from where it moved. It disappeared, rose and sunk again. Ben pushed his boat to the spot where he had seen Mabel disappear. His bow dashed against the little boat already broken in twain, and its fragments broke upon the water. He looked wildly about. The face was gone. The dark heap which he had taken for Mabel, had disappeared. Ben's strong arms began to tremble; tears of anguish met the beating rain, as it dashed against his face. Despair seized upon him. He dashed his oars into the bottom of the boat and stood up, ready for a plunge. He would never go back and say that his mistress had been suffered to drown before his face. His clasped hands were uplifted-the boat reeled under him-he was poised for the mad plunge! "Get in-get in-or she will be drowned over again!" he pleaded, seizing James Harrington by the shoulders, and dragging him over the side. Get down, keep her head out of water, and it'll take a worse storm than this to keep me back." Harrington fell rather than sat down, and took Mabel in his arms, close to a heart so chilled that it had almost ceased beating. But as her cold face fell upon his bosom, a glow of life came back to it, with a pang of unsupportable feeling. It was not joy-it was not sorrow but the warmth in his veins seemed like a sweet poison, which would end in death. He put the numb and senseless form aside with a great effort, resting the head upon Ben's coat. Twice he attempted to speak, but his trembling lips uttered nothing but broken moans. "Take her," he said to Ben, “take her, and I will pull the oars." "You haven't life enough in you, sir," pleaded Ben, shrinking from the proposal. "I am strong again," said Harrington, placing himself on the seat and taking the oars. "See!" The boat plunged heavily shoreward. Ben held his mistress with a sort of terror at the sacrilege. His brawny arms trembled around her. He turned his face to the storm, rather than allow his eyes to rest upon her. But James Harrington had no compassion; he still kept to the oars. At last they shot into a point of the shore, formed by two or three jutting rocks. Harrington dropped the oars, and the two men lifted Mabel Harrington from the boat, and bore her to a slope of the hill. No shelter was in sight. The sudden storm was abating, but rain still dropped in showers from the trees. "Where can we convey her? What shall we do?" said Harrington, looking around in dismay. "She will perish before we can obtain warmth, if she is not Ben struck out his oars. "Is she there? Can you hold on?" cried Ben, trembling in every limb of his stout frame. Ben had flung down his coat. They laid her upon it. James Harrington knelt upon the turf, and lifted her head to his knee. The face was pale as death; purple shadows lay about the mouth, and under the eyes; her flesh was cold as marble. Again the deathly cold came creeping to Harrington's "Do not move-do not strike, or you may kill her heart. He shuddered from head to foot, She is dead yet!" -she is dead!" broke from his chilled lips. "Oh, Mr. Harrington, Mr. Harrington, what can we do? What can we do?" groaned Ben, clasping his huge hands, and crying like a child over the poor lady. "She isn't dead-don't! That word is enough to kill a poor miserable feller, as wanted to die for her and couldn't." A hand seized one side of the boat. Close to the manly head he had seen, was the marble face of Mabel Harrington, half veiled by tresses of wet hair. Ben fell upon his knees, and plunging his arms into the waves, drew her into the boat. "For the shore-for your life!" shouted James Harrington, refusing to be helped, but clinging to the boat. "No, no-strike out; I will hold on-pull-pull!" Ben took off his coat, and rolling it in a bundle, placed it under Mabel Harrington's head. It was all he could do. The boat was a third full of water, and he had nothing else. His only answer was a low moan from James Harrington. In order to secure "LosT JEWELS " from unauthorized publication in England, the manuscript has been submitted to an English gen tleman, who has made such additions as entitle him to a legal copyright in England. As its Editor, consequently, he has entered it at Stationers' Hall, London, before publication here. (To be continued.) ROSE's consternation at this discovery was very great, but it was only evinced by the slightest possible start. The cry that rose to her lips was instantly suppressed. The quickness with which she obtained command over herself was surprising. In an instant, she had assumed the most nonchalant air. "Pray walk in, Major Cleveland," said she, dropping upon a sofa, coolly, and playing with her fan in an unconcerned manner. "You've come opportunely, sir. Pray let me make you acquainted with Captain Fuller. A friend of my father's, sir-a neighbor. Captain Fuller, Major Cleveland. Allow me to commend you, gentlemen, to each other's better acquaintance." IV. "I like him for that." "But what has all this to do with Captain Fuller? I have known the captain, major, for some years, and I think you can take my word for it, he is no spy." "Do Captain Fuller and Captain Armstrong wear the same colors?" "All continental officers wear the same colors," said Walter. "The same complexion, height, and-" rising, walking over to Walter and pointing to his scarf, "the same love tokens? Does Captain Fuller wear Captain Armstrong's scarf, worked with Captain Armstrong's Walter's scarf was a present from Rose, with his name embroidered upon it. Most unfortunately, neither Walter nor Rose had observed that the name was partially exposed. This discovery therefore startled, and threw them both into consternation. "A rebel officer!" said the major, stalking stiffly into name?" the room, "this is really very extraordinary." "Let me see you shake hands, gentlemen," continued Rose, coolly, without noticing the major's manner; "for here, you know, you must be friends. If you like to cut each other's throats elsewhere, so be it; but, of course, you sheathe your swords, and swear peace in the presence of a lady." "Miss Elsworth well rebukes us," said the major, walking over and offering his hand. Armstrong took it ceremoniously. "Now, gentlemen," said Rose, "sit down. You, major, shall have a seat upon the sofa by my side. Captain Fuller, please take the chair near you." The two officers took their respective seats in some constraint; and Rose, notwithstanding the peril of her lover, could scarcely refrain from an outburst of laughter at the picture of awkwardness, reserve, and embarrassment they together presented. "Now, you see," said she, "I am between you, and shall prevent warfare. I here proclaim a truce. The captain, major, wants to join our ball to-night. I have promised him my hand the next after yours." The major did not reply, for he was intent upon scrutinizing Walter through his eye-glass, for the major, as we have said, was something of a coxcomb. His manner grew grave and important as he did so. "I'm quite ready, Miss Elsworth," said he, "to laugh at a joke, but really I cannot understand Why two gentlemen cannot meet under my father's roof, as his guests, and not fall to tearing each other to pieces! Is it the modern way to make war in parlors, instead of the field?" 66 Strange, very strange," resumed the major, without replying to Rose, still closely scrutinizing Walter. "Your pardon, Captain Fuller, but I cannot help remarking that you closely resemble a description I have received of one Captain Armstrong." "Miss Elsworth," said the major, freezingly polite, "I'm under the necessity of a disagreeable duty. I am compelled to consider our truce at an end. Young sir, you are my prisoner." The major walked towards the window, but Walter drew his sword and threw himself before him. "If you speak aloud," said Walter, "or attempt to call aid, I will strike you dead. I shall not yield without resistance. If you molest me, blood will be shed." The major smiled, and drew a small pocket-pistol from his breast, cocked it, and placed it on a table before him; then drew his sword and placed it by its side. "I am better armed than you supposed, sir," said he; "it would be awkward for any collision to occur in the presence of a lady, and yet I shall not hesitate to do my duty. If you are really Captain Fuller, I shall be very glad to shake hands and drink a glass of wine with you; if Captain Armstrong, you must become my prisoner." "I have but one reply to make," answered Walter; "if you attempt to arrest me, I shall defend myself— and will escape if I can." While these words were exchanging, Walter stood near, and with his back to the window. The major stood near the centre of the apartment, with a table before him. Rose, meanwhile, unobserved, had closed the door; and standing erect by a chair, with pale cheek, glittering eye, and dilated nostril, watched the progress of the scene. At this juncture, a couple of shots were heard, and "Dear me," said Rose, "and who is Captain Arm- suddenly a figure came bounding through the window strong, pray?" "A rebel, madam.” into the room, followed almost instantaneously by two soldiers. The soldiers, surprised to find themselves in the presence of their commander, fell back and stood erect. The pursued was no less than Mr. Metcalf, the schoolmaster, who, upon seeing Walter, ran up to him, exclaiming— "Bless me, Captain Armstrong "Oh, then, he is Captain Armstrong," broke in the major. "You are severe." "I am glad you find me so." "Will you not say peace?" "War, Major Cleveland, to the last." "Daughter, more courtesy." "Oh! father, they may chain and bind our poor country, but they cannot find a way to chain a free “All is lost!” said Rose, and dropped into the chair woman's tongue." by her side. “Eh? what?" exclaimed the poor pedagogue, a good deal confused, and with a bewildered idea of being guilty of some mischief. "What was the cause of those shots fired now?" inquired the major. Rose walked the floor with blazing eye and cheek. The major gave his command, and Walter was led away under guard. The pedagogue crept into a corner crestfallen. Mr. Elsworth, troubled and bewildered, sat down, pressing his hand to his brow. Major Cleveland had stepped into the hall, and given his orders respect "This fellow, sir,, attempted to pass without the ing the prisoner to a subaltern. As he did so, a sudden countersign," responded one of the men. "You see, sir," said Mr. Metcalf, whose droll humor could not be silenced by the occasion or the presence, "you see, sir, I was just about to enter to call on my friend Mr. Elsworth, to sip an afternoon glass with him, when a big-booted fellow cried out, halt. Now, sir, the idea of asking a man well in both legs to halt, is preposterous▬▬▬▬▬” "Pshaw !" interrupted the major, and with a significant gesture, he motioned the men to Walter's side. They stepped up, and placed their hands on his shoulders. "You will resign your sword now, I trust, Captain Armstrong. Resistance would be entirely useless." "I am, indeed, your prisoner." He dropped his sword upon the floor, and folded his arms. "I am desirous of giving you," said the major, "every opportunity to disprove your identity with Captain Armstrong. I chance to know that gentleman's handwriting. There is a desk with pen and ink. Will you stand that test?" "That would never do," muttered Metcalf, aside, "there is not one of his pot-hooks that wouldn't hang him." "I decline to do or say anything," was Walter's reply to the major's request. Mr. Elsworth, alarmed by the shots and the confusion, now entered the room. He started back in dismay upon seeing Walter a prisoner in the hands of his guest. thought seemed to flash on Rose's mind; and, upon his re-entering the room, her whole manner changed, and flinging herself upon the sofa, she burst into laughter. "Really, Major Cleveland, this has been an absurd scene. Poor fellow! I couldn't bear his discomfited looks, and so out of old companionship, what could I do less than stand up for him? There won't be anything positively serious, will there, eh? I should be sorry to have it so, inasmuch as he fell into the trap under my father's roof. But, don't you think, major, I made a good champion? It was really presumptuous for the fellow to come here, though. These rustic clowns thrust themselves everywhere." Major Cleveland stared, and exclaimed"What, Miss Elsworth, Captain Armstrong then is nothing "Nothing in the world, I assure you, but a harmless country lad. Do tell me, major, am I not a good actor?" "Excellent!" cried he, but at a loss to know whether the previous or the present scene was acted. "Your arm, major. There come some of the guests. I remember that my hand is for you in the first dance." Major Cleveland offered his arm, and they left the room together. Mr. Elsworth threw up his arms in astonishment at this conduct, and Metcalf scratchet. his head with great perplexity. "I really could have supposed," said the major, in Rose's ear, still unable to comprehend her conduct, "I regret to say, my dear Elsworth, that this gentle-"that this American stood high in your esteem." man must for a few hours remain my prisoner. A mere form, sir, which my duty requires me to see enforced. He will, doubtless, be free in a few days. I shall have to make use of one of your out-houses, sir. It is really a pity that the captain must be deprived of the dance to night, but I will take care that his confine-greatest pleasure.” ment shall not be severe." "Oh, I like him well enough. He is among the best the country affords, but that is very bad, you know." "Then you bear me no malice?" "Not enough to kill a gnat." "Ah, Miss Elsworth, this assurance gives me the "Don't hurt the poor fellow though, major, I beg of him. He is a good-natured, useful neighbor enough -an unpolished jewel, papa calls him." "This, sir," said Rose, starting to her feet with a you. I should be quite sorry if anything happened to flushed face, "is a shameful breach of hospitality. Captain Armstrong is my father's guest, no less than yourself. Every consideration of delicacy and honor requires you to consider him so." "Miss Elsworth, I could wish you not to consider me wrong or cruel in this." "I judge, sir, by what I see." "The affair will prove a bagatelle, dear madam, I assure you.” "Ah, major, our social wants in this community are lamentable enough, when we are obliged to content ourselves with such poor substitutes as you have |