“God’s sake!” cried the old serving-woman. “The cut’s burst. That embankment’s broke down. Whativer are we goin’ to do!”
Mrs. Brangwen watched her son, and the lantern, go along the upper causeway to the stable. Then she saw the dark figure of a horse: then her son hung the lamp in the stable, and the light shone out faintly on him as he untackled the mare. The mother saw the soft blazed face of the horse thrust forward into the stable-door. The stables were still above the flood. But the water flowed strongly into the house.
“It’s getting higher,” said Tilly. “Hasn’t master come in?”
Mrs. Brangwen did not hear.
“Isn’t he the—ere?” she called, in her far-reaching, terrifying voice.
“No,” came the short answer out of the night.
“Go and loo—ok for him.”
His mother’s voice nearly drove the youth mad.
He put the halter on the horse and shut the stable door. He came splashing back through the water, the lantern swinging.
The unconscious, drowning body was pushed past the house in the deepest current. Fred Brangwen came to his mother.