Fiction March 1860  Love and Self-Love   "Effie!" I cried, with
a cry that rent the stillness of the night, and sent the name
ringing down the river. But nothing answered me, and the waves
rippled softly as they hurried by. Far over the wide stream went
my despairing glance, and saw nothing but the lilies swaying as
they slept, and the black arch where my child went down.  Agnes
lay trembling at my feet, but I never heeded her,— for Jean's
dead voice sounded in my ear, demanding the life confided to my
care. I listened, benumbed with guilty fear, and, as if summoned
by that weird cry, there came a white flash through the waves,
and Effie's face rose up before me.  Pallid and wild with the
agony of that swift plunge, it confronted me. No cry for help
parted the pale lips, but those wide eyes were luminous with a
love whose fire that deathful river could not quench.  Like one
in an awful dream, I gazed till the ripples closed above it. One
instant the terror held me,— the next I was far down in those
waves, so