At this moment the water rose so high, that the bier on which the corpse of poor Maria Olivera lay stark and stiff, was floated off the trestles, and turning on its edge, after glancing for a moment in the light cast by the wax tapers, it sank into the thick brown water, and was no more seen. The old priest murmured a prayer, but the effect on us was electric. “Sauve qui peut” was now the cry; and Sneezer, quite in his element, began to cruise all about, threatening the tapers with instant extinction. “Ladies, get through the holes,” shouted Don Ricardo. “Captain, get you out first.” “Can’t desert my ship,” said the gallant fellow; “the last to quit where danger is, my dear sir. It is my charter; but, Mr Cringle, go you, and hand the ladies out.” “I’ll be d----d if I do,” said I. “Beg pardon, sir; I simply mean to say, that I cannot usurp the pas from you.” “Then,” quoth Don Ricardo--a more discreet personage than any one of us “I will go myself;” and forthwith he screwed himself through one of the round holes in the wall behind the altar-piece. “Give me out one of the wax tapers--there is no wind now,” said Don Ricardo “and hand out my wife, Captain Transom.” “Ave Maria!” said the matron, “I shall never get through that hole.” “Try, my dear madam,” said Bang, for by this time we were all deucedly alarmed at our situation. “Try, madam;” and we lifted her towards the hole--fairly entered her into it head foremost, and all was smooth, till a certain part of the excellent woman’s earthly tabernacle stuck fast. We could hear her invoking all the saints in the calendar on the outside to “make her thin;” but the flesh and muscle were obdurate through she would not go, until--delicacy being now blown to the winds, Captain Transom placed his shoulder to the old lady’s extremity, and with the regular “Oh, heave oh!” shot her through the aperture into her husband’s arms. The young ladies we ejected much more easily, although Francesca Cangrejo did stick a little too. The priest was next passed, then Don Picador; and so we went on, until in rotation we had all made our exit, and were perched shivering on the high bank. God defend us! we had not been a minute there when the rushing of the stream increased the rain once more fell in torrents several large trees came down with a fearful impetus in the roaring torrent, and struck the corner of the chapel. It shook--we could see the small cross on the eastern gable tremble. Another stump surged against it--it gave way--and in a minute afterwards there was not a vestige remaining of the whole fabric. “What a funeral for thee, Maria!” said Don Ricardo. Not a vestige of the body was ever found.