At this moment in floundered Bridget, clasping a large bottle to her breast, and muttering at every stride objurgations, entreaties, and fag-ends of prayers. ‘Ochone!’ she cried, ‘may the saints an’ the Howly Mother av all hould us in their kapin’ this night!’ Then, uncorking the bottle, ‘Sure, Misthur Fortyskeu, sorr, if ye _are_ a haythen, ye might have a thry for purgathory itself. It’s better nor the other place, so it is. Here’s the howly wather, avick, that Father Dennis give me lasht chapel at Warrooga—if ye’ll let me sprinkle a weeshy dhrop—’ ‘Come, come, Bridget; stop that nonsense!’ exclaimed Fortescue sternly, as he knocked down slabs and pulled them inside. ‘Isn’t there water enough about, without any more. Take the candle and get me some ropes—clothes-lines, saddlestraps, anything you can find!’ Bridget opened her mouth with astonishment. She had never been spoken to in such manner before. Then putting down her precious bottle, she waddled off. Presently Daisy slipped into the water, saying,— ‘I can’t sit there and watch you working away by yourself,’ and she helped to hold the slabs, whilst he and Bridget secured them with lashings. Four, ten feet long, tied at the ends, and upon them cross-pieces, and upon these the long dining-room table. This was the raft; and while Fortescue tied and knotted and fastened, he talked of how he had once been cast away in a yacht, and had then learned many things. And the pair, listening to his cheery voice, took courage, albeit the water now was waist high. The seasoned pine timber floated like a cork, and to his satisfaction Fortescue found that with their combined weight it was still well out of the water. He was just considering whether it might be possible to secure a few valuables and important papers, when an ominous creaking caught his ear, and the house began to quiver bodily. Hurriedly jumping on board and seizing a long thin slab, he pushed off. And what a wild sight it was outside, as the frail craft shot clear of everything into the flood! The water ran like brown oil, swift but waveless, bearing with it logs, great trees, posts and rails, planks, heaps of straw, _débris_ of every description, whilst into the still, warm air ascended a stern hum like the sound of some mighty engine. It was like the sound of the river purring with satisfaction at the fulfilling of its last night’s promises. Looking back, they saw through the open front the lamp, like some welcoming beacon, burning steadily across the waters. Even as they gazed, there was a faint crash heard, and the light disappeared. The house had gone, and in another moment its fragments drifted by them. Round and round they swept, now threatened by some huge uptorn tree whose bristling roots came nigh transfixing them, now nearly dashed against the topmost limbs of a standing one, taking all Fortescue’s strength and skill to avoid a collision.