wife in the same
manner, for the water was deepening at every step, and the current
strengthening. The darkness, which had appeared dense at first, seemed
to lighten as they became accustomed to it, and soon a terrible state of
things became apparent. Turbid water was surging among the trees and
bushes everywhere, and rushing like a mill-race in hollows. One such
hollow had to be crossed before the safety of the hills could be gained.
The water reached Edwin's waist as he waded through. To prevent
accident, John Skyd and Considine waded alongside and supported him.
James Skyd performed the same office for Hans, and Bob waded just below
Scholtz and his burden--which latter, in a paroxysm of alarm, still
tried frantically to complete her toilet.

The hills were reached at last, and the whole party was safe--as far, at
least, as the flood was concerned--but a terrible prospect lay before
them. The farm of Mount Hope was by that time a sea of tumultuous
water, which seemed in the darkness of the night to be sweeping away and
tearing up trees, bushes, and houses. Behind and around them were the
hills, whose every crevice and hollow was converted into a wild
watercourse. Above was the black sky, pouring down torrents of rain
incessantly, so that the very ground seemed to be turning into mud, and
slipping away from beneath their feet. Fortunately there was no wind.

"To spend the night here will be death to the women and child," said
Edwin Brook, as they gathered under a thick bush which formed only a
partial shelter; "yet I see no way of escape. Soaked as they are, a
cavern, even if we can find one, will not be of much service, for our
matches are hopelessly wet."

"We must try to reach Widow Merton's farm," said John Skyd. "It is only
three miles off and stands on highish ground."

"It's a bad enough road by daylight in fine weather," said George Dally,
on whose broad shoulder Junkie had fallen sound asleep, quite regardless
of damp or danger, "but in a dark night, with a universal flood, it
seems to me that it would be too much for the ladies. I know a cave,
now, up on the hill-side, not far off, which is deep, an' like to be
dryish--"

"Never do," interrupted Hans Marais, to whose arm Gertie clung with a
feeling that it was her only hope; "they'd die of cold before morning.
We must keep moving."

"Yes, let us try to reach the widow's farm," said poor Mrs Brook
anxiously, "I feel stronger, I think; I can w