"We will have to go outside, and there is no time to spare." As he spoke he lifted her down, and guided her through water, now shoulder deep. Then he swung himself up by the door, took the lantern from her, and drew her on the roof beside him. When this feat was accomplished he gave a sigh of relief. "The hut is bound to go," he exclaimed; "if it capsizes don't grab hold of me. I'll manage to keep you afloat. I know you have a stout heart, Angel. We are luckily in a sort of backwater, and will only catch the edge of the flood. We may be carried along and caught in some trees lower down—that's just our one chance." The hut, which had been rocking and shivering as if about to take some desperate plunge, suddenly staggered, gave a wild lurch, and went more than half under water. "Oh, this must be the end, now we die," said Angel, clinging to Philip. But no, the stout wooden structure righted itself, spun round, and slowly embarked on the breast of the wild, dark current. What a sight it was, the roaring volume of ungovernable water racing furiously through the valley, and carrying with it, besides whole trees and logs and branches, the frail raft on which these two human beings clung together, with the hurricane lantern between them. The channel was in a condition resembling a storm at sea, and more than once the couple were nearly washed off the roof by the waves that broke over it. The night was as black as a wolf's mouth. At first they maintained an unbroken silence as they were hurried to what they both believed to be their death. Gascoigne, his arm around Angel, held her closely to him. Then at last he spoke: "Why did you go down to the hut, Angel?" "For Lola, to show her the way—she had lost something—I thought there was time." "But Brady had warned her, and—tell me why you stood back and implored me to take her first?" "Because—it had to be—one or the other," she stammered. "I knew that you loved her—I only—stood between you. You had escaped—oh, _why_ did you come back?" and she gave a little sob. "Because I love you, Angel. Surely you know that?" and he drew her still closer to him. "I don't say much—not half enough—I seem cold, but I feel deeply. It is late in the day to tell you that now! It is true that a man has two soul sides—one to face the world,—another to show the woman he loves—you have scarcely seen—your—side—but I swear by the God before whom we may appear in another moment—that I would rather die with you, than live with Lola." Angel bent her head upon his shoulder. The long pent-up tide of her misgivings and misery broke loose, and she wept from a mixture of rapture and grief. Alas! death was now doubly bitter; it meant shipwreck in sight of the haven.