The flood travelled with great force and extraordinary velocity; in less than ten minutes the roof was being dizzily whirled through a mountainous gorge, and the branches of huge trees seemed extended like arms, to bar its way and snatch it from its fate. By one hoary old oak the hut became momentarily entangled; the opportunity, the _one_ chance, had come. Gascoigne, who had tied the lantern to his arm, and fastened Angel's mackintosh round her waist and to his belt, now sprang for his life, for both their lives, caught the branch, and swung safely into the tree. But not a moment too soon; the raft was already under weigh, rapidly moving off, to be presently dashed to pieces among the narrow, rocky gorges of the Alakanda valley. The tree, an old evergreen oak, was not a particularly safe asylum with the hungry dark tide surging below, eager to swallow the refugees, but a rescue party was approaching. When Sir Capel and Mr. Brady had hurried down to where the hut had been, there was nothing to be seen but a racing tide of whirling black water covered with blocks of solid foam: the hut was gone. But what was that twinkling on the flood? a light far ahead—not a boat—what boat could live in that mad current? "They are on the roof," yelled Mr. Brady, "and they may be caught in the trees two miles down. Come on, come on," and, setting an example, he started away at a run, followed by Sir Capel and half-a-dozen others. Thanks to their timely assistance, in less than an hour the two who had so narrowly escaped the great flood were brought into camp, wet, benumbed, and exhausted, but profoundly thankful for their deliverance. CHAPTER XL THE INTRUDER THE great Chamoli landslip thus fulfilled its threat; the long-expected catastrophe had come, and gone. The lake had fallen five hundred feet in two hours, and worked the anticipated havoc over a large tract of country; enormous masses of trees and débris came down with the flood, bridges were carried away, and also many miles of roads. Of three native towns, and several villages, not a vestige remained. The passage of so large a volume of water through one hundred and fifty miles of valley, in the darkest hour of the night, unattended by the loss of a single life, was attributed to the services rendered by the temporary telegraph line, and the excellent work accomplished by Colonel Gascoigne, who received the thanks and congratulations of the Viceroy. The only individual who suffered personally from the effect of the inundation was the once irresistible Lola Waldershare. For some months after the disaster she remained with the Gascoignes, a helpless imbecile, and ultimately returned to England under the charge of a hospital nurse, a mental and physical wreck.