"Gin we be i' the watter, the watter's i' the how o' his han'. Gin we gang to the boddom, he has only to open's fingers, an' there we are, lyin' i' the loof o' 's han', dry and warm. Lie still."
And Annie lay so still, that in a few minutes more she was asleep again. Tibbie slept too.
But Annie woke from a terrible dream—that a dead man was pursuing her, and had laid a cold hand upon her. The dream was gone, but the cold hand remained.
"Tibbie!" she cried, "the watter 's i' the bed."
"What say ye, lassie?" returned Tibbie, waking up.
"The watter's i' the bed."
"Weel, lie still. We canna sweyp it oot."
The water was in the bed. And it was pitch dark. Annie, who lay at the front, stretched her arm over the side. It sunk to the elbow. In a moment more the bed beneath her was like a full sponge. She lay in silent terror, longing for the dawn.
"I'm terrible cauld," said Tibbie.
Annie tried to answer her, but the words would not leave her throat. The water rose. They were lying half-covered with it. Tibbie broke out singing. Annie had never heard her sing, and it was not very musical.