But the water
rushed past in bubbling sweep, and yet there was no sign.
Then, still in hope that he might yet find the young king, he rose to
his feet and threw himself headlong into the linn. Deep, deep he sank,
and the strong undercurrent tossed about him, seized him in its fearful
grip, and swept him downward in its course. Rising to the surface he
tried with all his strength to swim against the current to the spot
where Kenric had fallen in.
Not long had he thus endeavoured when his strength failed him. He felt
himself being drawn under. It came to be a matter of saving his own life
now -- saving it that he might live to carry the sad news home to
Rothesay. So he turned round with the stream and swam towards a great
flat rock in mid-current. As he neared it a strange sight met his eyes.
On the rock was the dead stag. A stream of crimson blood trickled down
from its broad chest, staining the white rock. Sitting upon the stag,
with folded arms and dripping hair, and eyes fixed in dreamy admiration
upon the tumbling waters of the White Lady Falls, was Kenric the king.
The great cataract curled over the topmost rocks in a smooth brown
volume, turned into pure white foam as it fell and bounded with roaring
noise into the deep chasm below. A cloud of spray rose from the depths,
and where the sunbeams crossed it there was a beautiful arc of light
showing all the colours of the rainbow.
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