“You are my prisoner!—­come with me!”

His lady and his daughters were present, and they felt most bitterly the indignity which a low tradesman had offered them.  Confusion paralyzed them; they stood still in the middle of the dance, and one of the young ladies swooned away and fell upon the ground.  The time, the place, the manner of arrest, all bespoke malignant and premeditated insult.

Mr. Morris gnashed his teeth together, but, without speaking, accompanied the officer that had arrested him in the room.  He remained in custody in an adjoining inn throughout the night; on the following day, was released on bail; and, within a week, his solicitor paid the debt, by augmenting the mortgage on Morris House estate.

It is hardly necessary to say—­for such is human nature—­that, after this incident, the hatred between Mr. Sim and Squire Morris became inveterate; and the wives of both, and the daughters of the latter, partook in the relentless animosity.  Two years passed, and every day the mutual hatred and contempt in which they held each other increased.  At that period, a younger son of Squire Morris, who was a lieutenant in the service of the East India Company, obtained leave to visit England and his friends.  It was early in June; the swallows chased each other in sport, twittering as they flew over the blue bosom of Windermere; every bush, every tree—­yea, it seemed as if every branch sent forth the music of singing birds, and the very air was redolent with melody, from the bold songs of the thrush and the lark to the love-note of the wood-pigeon; and even the earth rejoiced in the chirp of the grasshopper, its tiny but pleasant musician.  The fields and the leaves were in the loveliness and freshness of youth, luxuriating in the sunbeams, in the depth of their summer green; and the butterfly sported, and the bee pursued its errand from flower to flower.  The mighty mountains circled the scene, and threw their dun shadow on the lake, where, a hundred fathoms deep, they seemed a bronzed and inverted world.  At this time, Maria Sim was sailing upon the lake in a small boat that her father had purchased for her, and which was guided by a boy.

A sudden, but not what could be called a strong, breeze came away.  The boy had little strength and less skill, and, from his awkwardness in shifting the sail, he caused the boat to upset.  Maria was immersed in the lake.  The boy clung to the boat, but terror deprived him of ability to render her assistance.  She struggled with the waters, and her garments bore her partially up for a time.  A boat, in which was a young gentleman, had been sailing to and fro, and, at the time the accident occurred, was within three hundred yards of her.  On hearing her sudden cry, and the continued screams of the boy, he drew in his sail, and, taking the oars, at his utmost strength pulled to her assistance.  Almost at every third stroke he turned round his head to see the progress he had made, or if he had yet reached her.  Twice he beheld her disappear beneath the water—­a third time she rose to the surface—­he was within a few yards of her.  He sprang from his boat.  She was again sinking.  He dived after her, he raised her beneath his arm, and succeeded in placing her in his boat.  He also rescued the boy, and conveyed them both to land.