"Fire!" moaned one. "Fire! fire!"
"Who's burning?" said Young Gerard, and got quickly on his feet; but he did not see the two he looked for.
"None's burning, fool, but many are drowning. Do we not look like drowned men? How shall we ever get back to Combe Ivy, and warmth and drink and comforts? Would we were burning!"
"What has happened?" the boy demanded.
"We went in search of the ferry," he said, "but the ferry was drowned too."
"We couldn't find the ferry," said a second.
"No," mumbled a third, "the river had drunk it up. Where there were paths there are brooks, and where there were meadows, lakes."
The miserable crew broke out into plaints and questions—"Have you no fire? have you no food? no coverings?"
"None," said Young Gerard. "Where is the bride?"
"Have you do drink?"