“Let’s give the old bridge three cheers,” cried one of the spectators. “She’s been a good friend to us, and now we shall be put about as we were before for the want of her.”
They did so; and a great shout went up from the outspan, echoing far along the sides of the darkening hills, where the lowering rain-clouds rested in an unbroken pall. The bridge had been a good friend to them, and now it was gone they would sorely feel the want of it for some time to come, until another should replace it, which might not be for years. So they cheered right heartily; but with a feeling of genuine regret.
Meanwhile, at Seringa Vale, everything was at a standstill. The stock was kept at home, and in the soaked kraals the sheep stood huddled together, stolidly chewing the cad, and looking very forlorn in the dripping rain. But their owner’s watchful eye was everywhere, as, wrapped in a waterproof coat, he moved about, noting where it became necessary to cut a channel for the drainage of a fast accumulating body of water which threatened damage, and all hands would be turned out with spade and pick for this and such like duty. Even he was more than satisfied with the rainfall this time, and now and then cast an anxious look at the weather quarter.
“I don’t think I ever saw the kloof so full as this before, and it’s still rising,” he said.
“No?” answered Claverton, who was meditatively jerking a pebble or two across the broad, surging rush of water in front of them. “All the rivers in the country must be tolerably well down. Why, the bridges will never stand.”
“No, they won’t. If it goes on like this till morning there won’t be a bridge left in the country, that’s my opinion. There’ll be a heap of damage done besides. Well, we can’t do anything more now, and it’s getting dark,” and they turned towards the house.
Very cosy and cheerful looked the interior of that domicile, as a few minutes later, Claverton found his way thither, and got into dry clothes. No one was about—wait—yes—there was some one in the inner room. It was Lilian. She had been reading, and was seated by the window with her book open in her hand, just as the twilight and then the darkness had surprised her.
“Trying to read in the dark? Worst thing possible for the eyes,” he said. “What have you been doing with yourself all day?”
She turned to him.
“Very much what you see me doing now—reading and—dreaming.”