‘Hooray!  Come along!’ Miss Sperrit’s lantern, not fifty yards away, waved cheerily.

The woman threshed towards it like a panic-stricken goose, fell on her knees, was jerked up again by Midmore, and pushed on till she collapsed at Miss Sperrit’s feet.

’But you won’t get bronchitis if you go straight to Mr. Midmore’s house,’ said the unsympathetic maiden.

’O Gawd!  O Gawd!  I wish our ’eavenly Father ‘ud forgive me my sins an’ call me ‘ome,’ the woman sobbed.  ’But I won’t go to ’is ’ouse!  I won’t.’

‘All right, then.  Stay here.  Now, if we run,’ Miss Sperrit whispered to Midmore, ‘she’ll follow us.  Not too fast!’

They set off at a considerable trot, and the woman lumbered behind them, bellowing, till they met a third lantern—­Rhoda holding Jimmy’s hand.  She had got the carpet up, she said, and was escorting Jimmy past the water that he dreaded.

‘That’s all right,’ Miss Sperrit pronounced.  ’Take Mrs. Sidney back with you, Rhoda, and put her to bed.  I’ll take Jimmy with me.  You aren’t afraid of the water now, are you, Jimmy?’

‘Not afraid of anything now.’  Jimmy reached for her hand.  ’But get away from the water quick.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Midmore interrupted.

’You most certainly are not.  You’re drenched.  She threw you twice.  Go home and change.  You may have to be out again all night.  It’s only half-past seven now.  I’m perfectly safe.’  She flung herself lightly over a stile, and hurried uphill by the foot-path, out of reach of all but the boasts of the flood below.

Rhoda, dead silent, herded Mrs. Sidney to the house.

‘You’ll find your things laid out on the bed,’ she said to Midmore as he came up.  I’ll attend to—­to this. She’s got nothing to cry for.’

Midmore raced into dry kit, and raced uphill to be rewarded by the sight of the lantern just turning into the Sperrits’ gate.  He came back by way of Sidney’s farm, where he saw the light twinkling across three acres of shining water, for the rain had ceased and the clouds were stripping overhead, though the brook was noisier than ever.  Now there was only that doubtful mill-pond to look after—­that and his swirling world abandoned to himself alone.

‘We shall have to sit up for it,’ said Rhoda after dinner.  And as the drawing-room commanded the best view of the rising flood, they watched it from there for a long time, while all the clocks of the house bore them company.

’’Tisn’t the water, it’s the mud on the skirting-board after it goes down that I mind,’ Rhoda whispered.  ’The last time Coxen’s mill broke, I remember it came up to the second—­no, third—­step o’ Mr. Sidney’s stairs.’

‘What did Sidney do about it?’

’He made a notch on the step.  ’E said it was a record.  Just like ‘im.’

‘It’s up to the drive now,’ said Midmore after another long wait.  ’And the rain stopped before eight, you know.’