‘The dam,’ he answered--‘the dam. It broke. It burst as soon as they had gone down.’ Gundred clasped her hands tightly to prevent their trembling from being observed. She spoke as if in a dream. ‘And Ivor,’ she asked, unconsciously using the Christian name--‘Ivor, is he safe?’ Kingston laughed bitterly. ‘Safe?’ he cried--‘safe? Ivor is dead. They are all dead. I waited till they had got the bodies up. The flood soon subsided, and the men were able to get down and find the bodies. That is why I waited.’ Gundred moaned. The reality was more crushing than she had ever feared. God had granted her desire, but in a terrific way, and its granting brought her small joy. She almost ceased to feel holy. ‘Oh, Kingston,’ she murmured.... ‘Kingston, how awful! Too shocking to think of--too shocking to think of.’ She shook her head, covering her eyes as if to shut out the vision of those wretched adventurers caught and swept away by the flood which her prayers had loosed upon them. In that moment she felt a murderess. And the sanctity of the murder faded from her mind. Then she turned to the one spot of comfort in the whole disaster. What a merciful interposition of Heaven it was that had prevented her from allowing Jim to make the descent. That preservation in itself showed the special favour of the Almighty. He had set her son apart from the catastrophe that He had ordained. Her voice was calmer as she uncovered her face and spoke again. ‘And Jim?’ she asked. ‘What have you done with him? I do pray he did not see this dreadful sight. Poor little Jim! What an awful shock it would have been!’ Then she caught her husband’s eye, and paused in sudden terror of what she saw there.... ‘Kingston?’ she cried. He could give no answer. ‘Kingston?’ she repeated sharply, her voice rising to a shrill note of anxiety. ‘Kingston, what is it?’ ‘Jim went down with the others,’ said her husband in a low, colourless tone. ‘He wanted so much to go. I said he might. Jim went down with the others.’ Gundred gave a short cry. ‘Then how did you succeed in saving him?’ she gasped. ‘How was it he was not drowned with the others? Kingston, how did you succeed in saving him?’ ‘I did not,’ answered Kingston very quietly. ‘Jim is drowned. They are bringing back his body now with the others.’ ‘No,’ said Gundred, in a fearful stupefaction of calm--‘no, it is not possible. Jim is not dead. God must have saved him. It is not possible.’ Then her quiet cracked like glass. ‘Kingston,’ she screamed, ‘say it is not possible. Jim is safe.’ The father shook his head. ‘Jim is drowned,’ he repeated. ‘Drowned with the others.’ A deadly silence fell between them. Gundred pressed both hands to her head. The brain inside was a fiery wheel of agony, blinding her with the coruscations of its anguish. Then at last her hands sank to her sides and she looked up. Her face was fixed and ghastly, her voice unnaturally stolid as she spoke.