Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1879-12-04
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ttOntlnued from flrst rage
am going down the bank to examine it,
and when l return | shall know ii there l.
any particular danger
Saving this he tied one end OF the long
cord he carried, around a post on the bank
and began TO descend.
Ida watched him curiously as well as
anxiously. rs he went carelessly down the
slippery bank and disappeared in the dim
light beneath the supports of the old
wooden bridge She knew not the dan
ger which threatened the village and as
she stood thinking over it and waiting for
the verdict of the man who was to her
mind so noble, the quick steps of an APP
preaching horse and the rattle of wheels
fell upon her ear. 1t was her father re-
turning. AT once the sense of his danger
struck her, He must cross the bridge:
Would it bear the weight of his horse and
vehicleP Could he. dare he cross it?
Without thought she ran from the bank
to cross the bridge. Gerald Edwards
called to her from below:
stop. Miss Rutland! it will not bear
your weight. 1t will go directly. For
Gods sake, stopr'
my father. my father'' she cried in
fear.
"Where ?n asked Gerald, and instantly
sprang up the bank. There on the other
side was the Squire fast approaching, and
Gerald knew he must be stopped; tor if
he attempted TO cross, the bridge would
go down, With all the strength of voice
that he could command, he shouted;
"Stopl'
But the rattle of the wheels of the vehi
Gle the Squire was driving, and the rush
of waters deadened the sound, and he
drove on.
Then Gerald knew the danger was be-
fore him; and as the Squire reached the
bridge on the other side, he threw off his
coat and seized the cord which he had fas
tened to the bank. That would hold he
knew.
A moment more the horse was on the
bridge. 1t seemed to shudder beneath its
weight, then shook violently, then yielded.
Man, horse, and vehicle were plunged in
to the seething waters below.
The next second, Gerald, with call to
Ida, who stood paralyzed with fear, to re-
main still, threw himself down the bank,
and grasping the cord in one hand, drop
ped into the water.
Thoughts pass quickly through the
mind at such times, and to Gerald the
thought occurred that the moment the
heavy weight of horse and vehicle, or
some of the supports of the bridge should
stricke the dam it would give way. Once
that happened, all human help would
avail nothing Both would be carried
away by the suddenly freed waters, both
would perish together.
He struggled bravely to reach the
squire who had fortunately got clear of
the vehicle. He seizes him, and though
carried round and round by the eddying
waters, clings to the rope. The Squire
alss seizes it, and with wonderful presence
Of mind releases Gerald and both drag on
the rope. Down the stream nearer to the
dreadful mill-wheel they 90 and two lives
hang upon the rope. VIII it holdp
Yes; they near the bank. and although
the cord strains fearfully, they get foot
hold. A few feet more and the mill-wheel
had caught them. The Squire's strength
fails him now, but Gerald has him in his
arms, and at the last grasp drags him
through the water to the bank.
He is safe, but the peril forseen by Ger
aid is realized. The dam gives way I'M
der the weight of the vehicle, borne by
the waters with a heavy shock against it,
and the angry tide is let loose on the vii
lage below.
The nights work was dangerous in
more ways than one; and the effect upon
two of those engaged in it was seen three
months later. OF course Gerald. in the
eyes Of the fair young lady who had wit
messed his noble exploit, was from that
time forward hero equal to any Rome
had ever produced. The leap of Horatius
into the Tiber from its broken bridge was
nothing in comparison. So, at last she
thought; and who would quarrel with her
for extolling the heroism of the man who
had saved her iather's life? Who will
wonder that to that man she lost her heart,
or that Gerald having won it, gave her his
in its placer
1t is true that the Squire did not at all
depreciate the nobleness of the service
Gerald had rendered him. Yet it can
scarcely be wondered if he, as lord of the
manor, and owner of half the village, felt
some regret that his daughter should not
have-and here he stopped-''H made
better match?" his heart asked him,
"No, hang tits he answered HIMSELF"
"the boys good enough for the best lady
in the land
Love, then, was the ripened, holier feel
ing of gratitude for the nights work and
the Squire having heard the honest farm
er's acknowledgment of his passion, shook
him by the hand, and owned the WORTH
ness of his daughters choice.
Frank Edwards, his brother, was the
first to congratulate him. and he said that
he was sure he should always love Ida.
(Cnntiuued a \