But lo!  I have left Lorna ever so long, anxious to consult me upon political matters.  She came to me, and her eyes alone asked a hundred questions, which I rather had answered upon her lips than troubled her pretty ears with them.  Therefore I told her nothing at all, save that the attack (if any should be) would not be made on her account; and that if she should hear, by any chance, a trifle of a noise in the night, she was to wrap the clothes around her, and shut her beautiful eyes again.  On no account, whatever she did, was she to go to the window.  She liked my expression about her eyes, and promised to do the very best she could and then she crept so very close, that I needs must have her closer; and with her head on my breast she asked,—­

“Can’t you keep out of this fight, John?”

“My own one,” I answered, gazing through the long black lashes, at the depths of radiant love; “I believe there will be nothing:  but what there is I must see out.”

“Shall I tell you what I think, John?  It is only a fancy of mine, and perhaps it is not worth telling.”

“Let us have it, dear, by all means.  You know so much about their ways.”

“What I believe is this, John.  You know how high the rivers are, higher than ever they were before, and twice as high, you have told me.  I believe that Glen Doone is flooded, and all the houses under water.”

“You little witch,” I answered; “what a fool I must be not to think of it!  Of course it is:  it must be.  The torrent from all the Bagworthy forest, and all the valleys above it, and the great drifts in the glen itself, never could have outlet down my famous waterslide.  The valley must be under water twenty feet at least.  Well, if ever there was a fool, I am he, for not having thought of it.”

“I remember once before,” said Lorna, reckoning on her fingers, “when there was heavy rain, all through the autumn and winter, five or it may be six years ago, the river came down with such a rush that the water was two feet deep in our rooms, and we all had to camp by the cliff-edge.  But you think that the floods are higher now, I believe I heard you say, John.”

“I don’t think about it, my treasure,” I answered; “you may trust me for understanding floods, after our work at Tiverton.  And I know that the deluge in all our valleys is such that no living man can remember, neither will ever behold again.  Consider three months of snow, snow, snow, and a fortnight of rain on the top of it, and all to be drained in a few days away!  And great barricades of ice still in the rivers blocking them up, and ponding them.  You may take my word for it, Mistress Lorna, that your pretty bower is six feet deep.”

“Well, my bower has served its time”, said Lorna, blushing as she remembered all that had happened there; “and my bower now is here, John.  But I am so sorry to think of all the poor women flooded out of their houses and sheltering in the snowdrifts.  However, there is one good of it:  they cannot send many men against us, with all this trouble upon them.”