“Molly, dear, you make it harder.”

“Yes, I know.”  Her penitent hot hand touched his own.  “I know, dear--I’m sorry.”

“That’s all, dear.  The water wasn’t very high then.  Belle wouldn’t leave Timmy-” Jerry Tressady jumped suddenly to his feet and went to stare out the window with unseeing eyes.  “Miss Carter didn’t get into town here until after daylight,” he resumed, “and the mother, poor soul, is wild with fright over her; but she’s all right.  Now, Molly, there’s a barge going up as far as Rising Water at four.  They say the bungalow is still cut off, probably, but they’ll take us as near as they can.  I’m going, and this Rogers—­Belle’s friend—­will go, too.”

“What do you think, Jerry?” she besought him, agonized.

“My darling, I don’t know what to think.”

“Were—­were many lives lost, Jerry?”

“A few, dear.”

“Jerry,”—­Molly’s burning eyes searched his,—­“I’m sane now.  I’m not going to faint again; but—­but—­after little Jerry—­I couldn’t bear it and live!”

“God sent us strength for that, Molly.”

“Yes, I know!” she said, and burst into bitter tears.

It had been arranged that Molly should wait at the hotel for the return of the barge; but Jerry was not very much surprised, upon going on board, to find her sitting, a shadowy ghost of herself, in the shelter of the boxed supplies that might be needed.  He did not protest, but sat beside her; and Belle’s friend, a serious, muscular young man, took his place at her other side.

The puffing little George Dickey started on her merciful journey only after some agonizing delays; but Molly did not comment upon them once, nor did any one of the trio speak throughout the terrible journey.  The storm was gone now, and pale, uncertain sunlight was falling over the altered landscape—­over the yellow, sullen current of the river; over the drowned hills and partly submerged farms.  A broom drifted by; a child’s perambulator; a porch chair.  Now and then there was frantic signalling from some little, sober group of refugees, huddled together on a water-stained porch or travelling slowly down the heavy roads in a spattered surrey.

“This is as near as we can go,” Jerry said presently.  The three were rowed across shallow water and found themselves slowly following on foot the partly obliterated road they knew so well.  A turn of the road brought the bungalow into view.

There the little house stood, again high above the flood, though the garden was a drenched waste, and a shallow sheet of water still lay across the pathway.  The sinking sun struck dazzling lights from all the windows; no living thing was in sight.  A terrible stillness held the place!

To the gate they went and across the pool.  Then Jerry laid a restraining hand on his wife’s arm.

“Yes’m.  You’d ‘a’ better wait here,” said young Rogers, speaking for the first time.  “Belle wouldn’t ‘a’ stayed, you may be sure.  We’ll just take a look.”