Where the stream was broad and shallow, it sometimes left him a moment
or two, without being strong enough to carry him onwards; then he would
pause, as if gaining strength, and finally he would, when he had rested,
and the water came a little faster, and lifted him, make a desperate
plunge, and swim forward, until he again came in deep water, and then he
went slowly along with the stream, as he supported himself. It was strange thus to see a man going down slowly, and without any
effort whatever, passing through shade and through moonlight--now lost
in the shadow of the tall trees, and now emerging into that part of the
stream which ran through meadows and cornfields, until the stream
widened, and then, at length, a ferry-house was to be seen in the
distance. Then came the ferryman out of his hut, to look upon the beautiful
moonlight scene. It was cold, but pure, and brilliantly light. The
chaste moon was sailing through the heavens, and the stars diminished in
their lustre by the power of the luminous goddess of night. There was a small cottage--true, it was somewhat larger than was
generally supposed by any casual observer who might look at it. The
place was rambling, and built chiefly of wood; but in it lived the
ferryman, his wife, and family; among these was a young girl about
seventeen years of age, but, at the same time, very beautiful. They had been preparing their supper, and the ferryman himself walked
out to look at the river and the shadows of the tall trees that stood on
the hill opposite. While thus employed, he heard a plashing in the water, and on turning
towards the quarter whence the sound proceeded for a few yards, he came
to the spot where he saw the stranger struggling in the stream. "Good God!" he muttered to himself, as he saw the struggle continued;
"good God! he will sink and drown." As he spoke, he jumped into his boat and pushed it off, for the purpose
of stopping the descent of the body down the stream, and in a moment or
two it came near to him. He muttered,--

"Come, come--he tries to swim; life is not gone yet--he will do now, if
I can catch hold of him. Swimming with one's face under the stream
doesn't say much for his skill, though it may account for the fact that
he don't cry out." As the drowning man neared, the ferryman held on by the boat-hook, and
stooping down, he seized the drowning man by the hair of the head, and
then paused. After a time, he lifted him up, and placed him across the edge of the
boat, and then, with some struggling of his own, he was rolled over into
the boat. "You are safe now," muttered the ferryman. The stranger spoke not, but sat or leaned against the boat's head,
sobbing and catching at his breath, and spitting off his stomach the
water it might be presumed he had swallowed. The ferryman put back to the shore, when he paused, and secured his
boat, and then pulled the stranger out, saying,--

"Do you feel any better now?" "Yes," said the stranger; "I feel I am living--thanks to you, my good
friend; I owe you my life." "You are welcome to that," replied the ferryman; "it costs me nothing;
and, as for my little trouble, I should be sorry to think of that, when
a fellow-being's life was in danger." "You have behaved very well--very well, and I can do little more now
than thank you, for I have been robbed of all I possessed about me at
the moment." "Oh! you have been robbed?" "Aye, truly, I have, and have been thrown into the water, and thus I
have been nearly murdered." "It is lucky you escaped from them without further injury," said the
ferryman; "but come in doors, you must be mad to stand here in the
cold." "Thank you; your hospitality is great, and, at this moment, of the
greatest importance to me." "Such as we have," said the honest ferryman, "you shall be welcome to. Come in--come in." He turned round and led the way to the house, which he entered,
saying--as he opened the small door that led into the main apartment,
where all the family were assembled, waiting for the almost only meal
they had had that day, for the ferryman had not the means, before the
sun had set, of sending for food, and then it was a long way before it
could be found, and then it was late before they could get it,--

"Wife, we have a stranger to sleep with us to-night, and for whom we
must prepare a bed." "A stranger!" echoed the wife--"a stranger, and we so poor!" "Yes; one whose life I have saved, and who was nearly drowned. We cannot
refuse hospitality upon such an occasion as that, you know, wife." The wife looked at the stranger as he entered the room, and sat down by
the fire. "I am sorry," he said, "to intrude upon you; but I will make you amends
for the interruption and inconvenience I may cause you; but it is too
late to apply elsewhere, and yet I am doubtful, if there were, whether I
could go any further." "No, no," said the ferryman; "I am sure a man who has been beaten and
robbed, and thrown into a rapid and, in some parts, deep stream, is not
fit to travel at this time of night." "You are lonely about here," said the stranger, as he shivered by the
fire. "Yes, rather; but we are used to it." "You have a family, too; that must help to lighten the hours away, and
help you over the long evenings." "So you may think, stranger, and, at times, so it is; but when food runs
short, it is a long while to daylight, before any more money can be had. To be sure, we have fish in the river, and we have what we can grow in
the garden; but these are not all the wants that we feel, and those
others are sometimes pinching. However, we are thankful for what we
have, and complain but little when we can get no more; but sometimes we
do repine--though I cannot say we ought--but I am merely relating the
fact, whether it be right or wrong." "Exactly. How old is your daughter?" "She is seventeen come Allhallow's eve." "That is not far hence," said the stranger. "I hope I may be in this
part of the country--and I think I shall--I will on that eve pay you a
visit; not one on which I shall be a burden to you, but one more useful
to you, and more consonant to my character." "The future will tell us all about that," said the ferryman; "at present
we will see what we can do, without complaining, or taxing anybody." The stranger and the ferryman sat conversing for some time before the
fire, and then the latter pointed out to him which was his bed--one made
up near the fire, for the sake of its warmth; and then the ferryman
retired to the next room, a place which was merely divided by an
imperfect partition. However, they all fell soundly asleep. The hours on that day had been
longer than usual; there was not that buoyancy of spirit; when they
retired, they fell off into a heavy, deep slumber. From this they were suddenly aroused by loud cries and piercing screams
from one of the family. So loud and shrill were the cries, that they all started up, terrified
and bewildered beyond measure, unable to apply their faculties to any
one object.