boat forward with the energy of weakening hope. The dawning seemed to advance more swiftly now she was in action, and she could soon see the poor dumb beasts crowding piteously on a mound where they had taken refuge. Onward she paddled and rowed by turns in the growing twilight; her wet clothes clung round her and her streaming hair was dashed about by the wind, but she was hardly conscious of any bodily sensations except a sensation of strength inspired by a mighty emotion. Along with the sense of danger and possible rescue for those long-remembered beings at the old home, there was an undefined sense of reconcilement with her brother. What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other, can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs? Vaguely Maggie felt that in the strong resurgent love toward her brother that swept away all the later impressions of hard, cruel offence and misunderstanding, and left only the deep underlying, unshakable memories of early union.

gone

But now there was a large dark mass in the distance, and near to her Maggie could discern the current of the river. The dark mass must be—yes, it was-St. Ogg's. Ah! now she knew which way to look for the first glimpse of the well-known trees-the gray willows, the now-yellowing chestnuts-and above them the old roof. But there was no color, no shape, yet; all was faint and dim. More and more strongly the energies seemed to come and put themselves forth, as if her life were a stored-up force that was being spent in this hour, unneeded for any future.

She must get her boat into the current of

the Floss, else she would never be able to pass the Ripple and approach the house; this was the thought that occurred to her as she imagined with more and more vividness the state of things round the old home. But then she might be carried very far down, and be unable to guide her boat out of the current again. For the first time distinct ideas of danger began to press upon her, but there was no choice of course, no room for hesitation, and she floated into the current. Swiftly she went now, without effort. More and more clearly in the lessening distance and the growing light she began to discern the objects that she knew must be the well-known trees and roofs; nay, she was not far off a rushing muddy current that must be the strangely altered Ripple.

Great God! there were floating masses in it that might dash against her boat as she passed and cause her to perish too soon. What were those masses?

For the first time Maggie's heart began to beat in an agony of dread. She sat helpless, dimly conscious that she was being floated along more intensely conscious of the anticipated clash. But the horror was transient; it passed away before the oncoming warehouses of St. Ogg's. She had passed the mouth of the Ripple, then; now she must use all her skill and power to manage the boat, and get it, if possible, out of the current. She could see now that the bridge was broken down; she could see the masts of a stranded vessel far out over the watery field; but no boats were to be seen moving on the river: such as had been laid hands on were employed in the flooded streets.

With new resolution, Maggie seized her oar and stood up again to paddle; but the

Tom rowed with untired vigor, and with a different speed from poor Maggie's. The boat was soon in the current of the river again, and soon they would be at Tofton. "Park House stands high up out of the flood," said Maggie. "Perhaps they have. Perhaps they have got Lucy there."

Nothing else was said.

Now a new danger was being carried toward them by the river; some wooden machinery had just given way on one of the wharves, and huge fragments were being floated along. The sun was rising now, and the wide area of watery desolation was spread out in dreadful clearness around them; in dreadful clearness floated onward the hurrying, threatening masses. A large company in a boat that was working its way along under the Tofton houses observed their danger and shouted,

"Get out of the current !"

But that could not be done at once, and Tom, looking before him, saw death rushing on them. Huge fragments clinging together in fatal fellowship made one wide mass across the stream.

"It is coming, Maggie," Tom said, in a deep hoarse voice, loosing the oars and clasping her.

The next instant the boat was no longer seen upon the water, and the huge mass was hurrying on in hideous triumph. But soon the keel of the boat reappeared, a black speck on the golden water.

The boat reappeared, but brother and sister had gone down in an embrace never to be parted, living through again in one supreme moment the days when they had clasped their little hands in love and roamed the daisied fields together.

Nature repairs her ravages-repairs them with her sunshine and with human labor. The desolation wrought by that flood had left but little visible trace on the face of the earth five years after. The fifth autumn was rich in golden cornstacks rising in thick clusters among the distant hedgerows; the wharves and warehouses on the Floss were busy again with echoes of eager voices, with hopeful lading and unlading.

Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred. If there is a new growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To the eyes that have dwelt on the past there is no thorough repair.

Dorlcote Mill was rebuilt, and Dorlcote churchyard-where the brick grave that held a father was found with the stone laid prostrate upon it after the flood-had recovered all its grassy order and decent quiet. Near that brick grave there was a tomb erected very soon after the flood for two bodies that were found in close embrace. The tomb bore the names of Tom and Maggie Tulliver, and below the names it was written: "In their death they were not divided."

CHARACTER.

GEORGE ELIOT.

pride