"Do you call these misfortunes?" demanded Corse de Leon. "You are younger in heart than I even thought you were. But what you say is worthy of memory; if what you felt were really a presentiment of coming evils, take my word for it, they are scarcely yet begun: you will want watching and assistance," he added, thoughtfully; "you will need aid and help with a strong hand; I have not forgotten my promise, and I will keep it. But quick, let us ride on! Our horses feel that there is something coming, and I would fain reach Gandelot's inn before it comes."
"I should suppose," replied Bernard de Rohan, "that it offers very inefficient shelter. It is built so completely at the foot of the mountain, that I wonder the snows in winter do not overwhelm it."
"It has twice been crushed under an avalanche," replied his companion, "and they still build it up again on the same spot; but what the house has to fear is as much the water as the snow; and it is because it is no place of shelter that I would fain be there."
Bernard de Rohan understood him in a moment; and the thought of Isabel de Brienne was quite sufficient to make him spur on eagerly. About half a league farther, the road turned a projection of the mountain, and, shortly after they had passed the angle of the rock, the spray of a cataract dashed in their faces, while an immense volume of water rushed furiously down from a spot some hundred yards above them, looking in that dim hour like some vast giant robed in white and leaning against the mountain. The torrent itself gushed across the road, and Bernard de Rohan turned his eyes upon his companion, not recollecting such an obstruction in their way.
"Some four or five hours ago," said Corse de Leon, "when I passed by that spot, there was scarcely water enough to quench the thirst of a wolf, and now it is a torrent. There is some great commotion above there. But perhaps it is all past, and these may be the results. We must try and force our horses through, however; keep as close to the face of the rock as possible."
So saying, he spurred on; but it was with the greatest difficulty that either he or his companion compelled their horses to make the attempt to pass the torrent. The pattering of the spray and the roaring of the stream terrified and bewildered them; and when, at length, urged forward, partly by chiding, partly by gentleness, they did dash on, the animals bore their riders through the midst of the current, where the ground was rough and insecure. Twice the charger which bore Bernard de Rohan stumbled, and nearly fell, and twice, though drenched with the pouring of the water on his head, and gasping for breath under the rushing weight upon him, he aided the horse up with heel and hand till he reached the other side and stood on firm ground.
Wellnigh stunned and bewildered, he turned to look for Corse de Leon. The brigand was standing beside him dismounted from the horse, and holding the animal by the rein with one hand, while he raised the other towards the sky with a look of eager, yet solemn attention. The next instant he grasped the young cavalier's hand, exclaiming, "Stir not a step! It is coming, it is coming! Now, as ever, we stand in God's good will to live or die; but death is very near us."
At the same moment there came a roar as of distant cannon; many shot off at once; then a murmuring pause; then a roar again; and, as it came on, the deafening sound of the thunder itself would have been as nothing to the terrific rushing noise that echoed through the hollow valleys. It seemed as if a thousand sounds were mingled; for the howling of the wind still continued, as if imitating the screams and wailing of people in pain; while the crash of rocks falling upon rocks, and of the stout trees of the forest rent into shivers, and of rolling masses of earth and snow, crags and cliffs, with one half the mountain itself, was alone overpowering by the very sound that beat upon the ear, even had it not been accompanied by an awful pressure of the air which took away the breath, and a sense of coming annihilation which seemed to check the beating of the heart even before death had stilled it with his icy hand.
There was time for but one short prayer to Him on high, and one thought of her he loved, before the crumbling ruin came down into the valley, sweeping close, past the very place where Bernard de Rohan stood. Rocks and stones rushed on before it, and one immense mass struck his horse on the knees and chest, threw him backward on his haunches, and beast and rider rolled over the edge into the stream. For an instant he lost his consciousness; and then, waking to life, found himself in the valley below, dashed by the torrent against the rocky banks.
He had been thrown free, however, from the horse; and, though to swim was impossible, from the crags, the trees, the projecting stones, and the fierce struggling of the torrent, yet he contrived to grasp a rugged branch that hung over the water, swung himself to the bank, and sprang upon the land. It was all impulse, for he hardly knew how he found the bough or reached the firm ground. Even when there, he was fain to cast himself down, and press his hands upon his forehead, for everything swam round with him: the earth seemed to shake beneath his feet; and the roar of falling rocks and crags still mingled with the loud voice of the turbulent waters from which he had just escaped. The mightier sound, however, had passed away—that awful rushing noise, unlike anything else on earth—and gradually, the others ceased also, till at length nothing was heard but the flowing of the river, as it foamed and struggled with the obstacles in its course.