And Mrs.Mortimer looked on from the well by the cabin door, saucepan in hand, prepared to cook at the shortest notice.

It was fascinating to see her, at first in the almost brimming lock, majestically erect (she was a regal figure) challenging the horizon with a gaze at once proud, prescient of martyrdom, and prepared; and then, as Sam opened the sluices, to watch her descend, inch by inch, into the dark lock-chamber.

Each time this happened Mr.Mortimer exhorted her--"Courage, my heart's best!"-- and she made answer each time, "Nay, Stanislas, I have no terrors." Mr.Mortimer, at the fifth lock, left Old Jubilee and walked around to remark to Tilda that on the boards some such apparatus--"if it could be contrived at moderate expense"-- would be remarkably effective in the drowning scene of _The Colleen Bawn_; or, in the legitimate drama, for the descent of Faustus into hell; "or, by means of a gauze transparency, the death of Ophelia might be indicated.

I mention Ophelia because it was in that part my Arabella won what--if the expression may be used without impropriety--I will term her spurs.

I am given to understand, however," added Mr.Mortimer, "that the apparatus requires a considerable reservoir, and a reservoir of any size is only compatible with fixity of tenure.