They were safe at last; but even as they stood panting, the rent in the top of the embankment spread—­deepened—­yawned terrifically—­and the pent-up lake plunged through, and sweeping away at once the center of the embankment, rushed, roaring and hissing, down the valley, an avalanche of water, whirling great trees up by the roots, and sweeping huge rocks away, and driving them, like corks, for miles.

At that appalling sound, that hissing thunder, the like of which he had never heard before, and hopes never to hear again, Ransome spurred away at all his speed, and warned the rest of the village with loud inarticulate cries:  he could not wait to speak, nor was it necessary.

At the top of the hill he turned a moment, and looked up the valley; soon he saw a lofty white wall running down on Hatfield Mill:  it struck the mill, and left nothing visible but the roof, surrounded by white foam.

Another moment, and he distinctly saw the mill swim a yard or two, then disappear and leave no trace, and on came the white wall, hissing and thundering.

Ransome uttered a cry of horror, and galloped madly forward, to save what lives he might.

Whenever he passed a house he shrieked his warning, but he never drew rein.

As he galloped along his mind worked.  He observed the valley widen in places, and he hoped the flying lake would spread, and so lose some of that tremendous volume and force before which he had seen Hatfield stone mill go down.

With this hope he galloped on, and reached Poma Bridge, five miles and a half from the reservoir.

Here, to his dismay, he heard the hissing thunder sound as near to him as it was when he halted on the hill above Damflask; but he could see nothing, owing to a turn in the valley.

At the bridge itself he found a man standing without his hat, staring wildly up the valley.

He yelled to this man, “Dam is burst.  Warn the village—­for their lives—­run on to Hillsborough—­when you are winded, send another on.  You’ll all be paid at the Town Hall.”

Then he dashed across the bridge.

As he crossed it, he caught sight of the flying lake once more:  he had gone over more ground, but he had gone no further.  He saw the white wall strike Dolman’s farm; there was a light in one window now.  He saw the farm-house, with its one light, swim bodily, then melt and disappear, with all the poor souls in it.

He galloped on:  his hat flew off; he came under the coiners’ house, and yelled a warning.  A window was opened, and a man looked out; the light was behind him, and, even in that terrible moment, he recognized—­Shifty Dick.

“The flood! the flood!  Fly!  Get on high ground, for your lives!”

He galloped furiously, and made for Little’s house.

CHAPTER XLIV.

Little took a book, and tried to while away the time till Ransome’s return; but he could not command his attention.  The conversation about Grace had excited a topic which excluded every other.