Not five seconds had passed when he rose to the water's surface--
but what a change had taken place in that short time, in all his
thoughts and feelings! Life--life in any form, poverty, misery,
starvation--anything but death. He fought and struggled with the
water that closed over his head, and screamed in agonies of terror.
The curse of his own son rang in his ears. The shore--but one foot
of dry ground--he could almost touch the step. One hand's breadth
nearer, and he was saved--but the tide bore him onward, under the
dark arches of the bridge, and he sank to the bottom.
Again he rose, and struggled for life. For one instant--for one
brief instant--the buildings on the river's banks, the lights on
the bridge through which the current had borne him, the black
water, and the fast-flying clouds, were distinctly visible--once
more he sunk, and once again he rose. Bright flames of fire shot
up from earth to heaven, and reeled before his eyes, while the
water thundered in his ears, and stunned him with its furious roar.
A week afterwards the body was washed ashore, some miles down the
river, a swollen and disfigured mass. Unrecognised and unpitied,
it was borne to the grave; and there it has long since mouldered
away!
The End.
