The
bride, a pretty thing in cherry ribbands, clung to the boat's side in
amaze at the heroic swagger of her new lord, but her cheeks, which had
matched her ribbands, grew paler at each rock and dip of the boat, and
her fear forced little shrieks from her. Her companions shrieked too,
but laughingly and in such manner as but spurred the men to greater
follies. The sport was at its highest and noisiest when they neared the
spot all Oxford knew by this time by the name of "my Lord Marquess's
diving hole." At this point the river was broad and deep, and not far
below it the water washed over a weir near which was a post bearing a
board marked "Danger!" To those who knew the waters and had some skill
with their oars there was no peril, but to a crew of drink-filled
junketers it was an ill-omened place. The wedding-party was too wild
and young and rollicking to observe the sign-board. The men rocked the
boat, shouted and sang, the women squealed and laughed and shouted with
them; the little bride burst forth weeping, shrieking wildly the next
moment as the wherry was overset, and the whole party struggled in the
water, the hat, with its cherry-ribbands, floating on the top.
Some distance above there were people walking. Shrieks filled the air
and roused all within sight to running and shouting. Poor gasping,
choking, deadly faced heads bobbed up a moment on the river's surface
and went under struggling.
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