Straining every nerve, and praying aloud, the lawyer reached the middle of the stream, and paused for a moment, gasping for breath. Then the roar of the flood, and the rush of water and wind, seemed to blind and confuse him, and he seemed giving way. But with a mighty effort he kept his feet, and even then all might have gone well with him but for an accidental impediment--the half-submerged trunk of a tree, which rolled over and over, struck the staff from his hands and took him off his feet. With a shriek, he was swept headlong into the flood, and disappeared. Only for a few moments--then, haggard and ghastly, his head re-emerged, drifting towards the point where Conseltine stood. A good swimmer, he struck boldly out, and was helped by the current. All he was conscious of was the rushing water around him, and the figure of Conseltine coming nearer and nearer. As Conseltine had explained, the current swept right to the point, close to which there was some shallow water. Strong and wiry as a terrier, Feagus made his way thither, fighting for his life. He was close to the point, his feet touched solid ground, and he could see Conseltine close to him, looking calmly down, when his force foiled him and he was whirled round like a straw. ‘Save me!’ he shrieked, reaching out his hands. By wading forward, and gripping the hands so outstretched, Conseltine, with little or no danger to himself, could have drawn him into the shallows, but, instead of so doing, he looked at the miserable man and made no effort to assist him. The opportunity of the moment passed, and with a shriek of despair Feagus was swept away. ***** Pale as death, Conseltine watched him until he disappeared altogether, and then, pale as a spectre, walked up the riverside. He was safe now, and the only man who could denounce him and bring any certain proof of his guilt was silenced for ever. ‘The drunken fool!’ he muttered. ‘That threat has cost him his life. Had he lived, he would have done what he threatened to do--so he’s better where he is!’ He looked back across the river. Blake’s Hall stood untouched, but all around it was the dark mass of the moving bog, still creeping across the vale. Where the bridge had fallen, a great lake of water, fed by the river, was spreading and spreading. The rain still fell heavily, adding to the general desolation. He turned and hastened till he reached the road leading to the village and Castle of Kilpatrick. As he strode along, he passed numbers of men, women, and children hurrying in the same direction, but spoke to none and was heeded by none, until he was close upon the village, when he came suddenly face to face with his son. ‘Father!’ cried Richard, aghast at the wild figure before him. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What has happened?’