“Too late, if you ride not very fast,” replied the youth. “The rain has fallen heavily on the mountains this afternoon. See that waterfall yonder. I crossed it dry-shod at day-break, and now, it is a cataract. This river rises rapidly, and in a single night's rain I have seen the valley all one lake.” “What are we to do then?” cried Miss Travers, eagerly, for now she felt self-reproach at her refusal to take a groom along with them, and was vexed with herself, as well as uneasy for her father. “Keep the left of the valley till you reach the tall black rock they call 'the pulpit'--you know it, at least you must have seen it, as you came along--then cross the stream, it will be fordable enough by that time, and make the best of your way along under the cliffs, till you arrive at the broken bridge--the two buttresses, I mean. Re-cross the stream there, and gain the meadows, and in some hundred yards you are safe upon the high road. Away then; lose no more time, now; a minute is all the space between risk and safety;” and with these words he sprang forward, and lifted the young girl to her saddle, ere she had time or forethought to decline the service. “May we not know the name of our kind adviser?” asked Sir Marmaduke, as he mounted his horse. “Hark! there it comes!” said the youth, pointing upwards to the brow of a cliff, over which a leaping torrent had just bounded. “The mountain lakes are flooded, when Derrybahn is spouting. Away! away! if you care for safety.” They turned their horses' heads as he spoke, and with a hasty “good bye” they spurred forwards. Short as the time had been since they travelled the same path, the scene was wonderfully changed; the placid stream that stole along, murmuring over its gravelly bed, now rushed onward with a yellow current streaked with white foam; the tiny rivulets that came in slender drops upon the road-side, were now become continuous streams of water, hurrying on to bear their tribute to the river. The sky itself was black and louring, resting midway on the mountains, or drifting past in heavy clouds, while no breeze was stirring below. The many torrents as they fell, filled the air with a low monotonous sound, like the noise of tree tops moved by a distant-storm. “I thought I heard a voice calling to us,” said Sir Marmaduke, as for the first time they slackened their pace, to clear several loose stones that obstructed the way--“did you hear it?” “I half thought so, too,” replied his daughter; “but I can see no one near. There it is again!” They halted and listened; but the swelling uproar of the waterfalls drowned every sound, and they spurred forward once more, fearing to loiter longer; yet, both as they went, thought they could trace the words, “come back, come back;” but from some strange dread of communicating fears that might not be real, neither told the other.