uds condensed, grew water, and poured like a squeezed sponge. A wet
November indeed it was--wet overhead--wet underfoot--wet all round! and
the rivers rose rapidly.

When the Lythe rose beyond a certain point, it overflowed into a hollow,
hardly a valley, and thereby a portion of it descended almost straight
to Glaston. Hence it came that in a flood the town was invaded both by
the rise of the river from below, and by this current from above, on its
way to rejoin the main body of it, and the streets were soon turned into
canals. The currents of the slowly swelling river and of its temporary
branch then met in Pine street, and formed not a very rapid, but a heavy
run at ebb tide; for Glaston, though at some distance from the mouth of
the river, measuring by its course, was not far from the sea, which was
visible across the green flats, a silvery line on the horizon. Landward,
beyond the flats, high ground rose on all sides, and hence it was that
the floods came down so deep upon Glaston.

On a certain Saturday it rained all the morning heavily, but toward the
afternoon cleared a little, so that many hoped the climax had been
reached, while the more experienced looked for worse. After sunset the
clouds gathered thicker than before, and the rain of the day was as
nothing to the torrent descending with a steady clash all night. When
the slow, dull morning came Glaston stood in the middle of a brown lake,
into which water was rushing from the sky in straight, continuous lines.
The prospect was discomposing. Some, too confident in the apparent
change, had omitted needful precautions, in most parts none were now
possible, and in many more none would have been of use. Most cellars
were full, and the water was rising on the ground-floors. It was a very
different affair from a flood in a mountainous country, but serious
enough, though without immediate danger to life. Many a person that
morning stepped out of bed up to the knee in muddy water.

With the first of the dawn the curate stood peering from the window of
his dressing-room, through the water that coursed down the pane, to
discover the state of the country; for the window looked inland from the
skirt of the town. All was gray mist, brown water, and sheeting rain.
The only things clear were that not a soul would be at church that
morning, and that, though he could do nothing to divide them the bread
needful for their souls, he might do something for some of their bodies.