“There’s only one thing for it, miss,” he answered promptly. “I don’t think the water is deep, and I’ll keep straight on--as near as I can guess--in the middle of the road; you see, there are ditches at either side, and I can’t turn; but you need not be nervous--as long as the water doesn’t reach the magneto you are all right.” But, as they crept forward cautiously, the water was gradually rising; it rose and rose, till it stole in under the door, and then the motor came to a full stop. “_Now_, what’s going to happen?” demanded Miss Susan excitedly. “I see the road is not more than fifty yards ahead, and the water is shallower. We have stuck in the worst part.” “But what is to become of us, my good man? Are _we_ to sit here all night--and the motor may blow up?” “I’ll go to a farmhouse and borrow a couple of horses, and I dare say after a bit I can start her again.” “And are we to remain here, Owen, and be half-drowned? You know my sister will be _crazy_ if we are not home by seven.” “There’s one thing I could do, Miss Susan,” he replied, “that is if you have no objection; I can carry you and Miss Morven through the water, and put you out on the road high and dry. I think I might get a trap in Swingford village; you could drive home, and I’ll bring the car along to-morrow. It seems the only thing to be done.” After this suggestion there ensued a long and animated consultation between aunt and niece; at last Miss Susan, raising her voice, said-- “Very well, Owen, I see no alternative; you can take me first--I am a light weight.” Owen now descended from his place and waded to the door, which he opened. “All right, Miss Susan, you may depend on me. I won’t drop you.” “How am I to manage?” she asked shame-facedly. “It’s quite easy! Just put your arms round my neck, miss, and hold tight.” After a moment’s coy reluctance--it was the first time in her life she had ever put her arms round a man’s neck--Miss Susan timidly embraced him. “Hold on,” he commanded, and, lifting her bodily out of the car as if she were a child, waded away, striding and splashing up to his middle in water. When he had carefully deposited her on dry land, the chauffeur returned for the young lady, who, it must be confessed, awaited him with a wildly beating heart; it seemed to her that in his air there was actually a look of mastery and triumph. If he had been an ordinary chauffeur, such as the Woolcocks’, she would not have minded; but this man--this Lieutenant Wynyard, who was of her own class--oh, how she shrank from this enforced ordeal; she felt deeply reluctant and ashamed.