She followed him into the passage.
“Whaur are ye gauin’, Robert?” she said.
“I wuss I cud tell ye,” he answered. “I’m jist hungerin’ to be my lane. I wuss I had never left Glashgar. There’s aye room there. Or gien I cud win oot amo’ the rigs! There’s nane o’ them left, but there’s the rucks—they’re no soomin’ yet! I want to gang to the Lord, but I maunna weet Willie Mackay’s claes.”
“It’s a sair peety,” said Janet, “’at the men fowk disna learn to weyve stockins, or dee something or ither wi’ their han’s. Mony’s the time my stockin’ ’s been ’maist as guid ’s a cloaset to me, though I cudna jist gang intil ’t. But what maitters ’t! A prayer i’ the hert ’s sure to fin’ the ro’d oot. The hert’s the last place ’at can haud ane in. A prayin’ hert has nae reef (roof) till ’t.”
She turned and left him. Comforted by her words, he followed her back into the kitchen, and sat down beside her.
“Gibbie ’ill be here mayhap whan least ye luik for him,” said Janet.
Neither of them caught the wild eager gleam that lighted the face of the strange woman at those last words of Janet. She looked up at her with the sharpest of glances, but the same instant compelled her countenance to resume its former expression of fierce indifference, and under that became watchful of everything said and done.
Still the rain fell and the wind blew; the torrents came tearing down from the hills, and shot madly into the rivers; the rivers ran into the valleys, and deepened the lakes that filled them. On every side of the Mains, from the foot of Glashgar to Gormdhu, all was one yellow and red sea, with roaring currents and vortices numberless. It burrowed holes, it opened long-deserted channels and water-courses; here it deposited inches of rich mould, there yards of sand and gravel; here it was carrying away fertile ground, leaving behind only bare rock or shingle where the corn had been waving; there it was scooping out the bed of a new lake. Many a thick soft lawn, of loveliest grass, dotted with fragrant shrubs and rare trees, vanished, and nothing was there when the waters subsided but a stony waste, or a gravelly precipice. Woods and copses were undermined, and trees and soil together swept into the wash: sometimes the very place was hardly there to say it knew its children no more. Houses were torn to pieces, and their contents, as from broken boxes, sent wandering on the brown waste, through the grey air, to the discoloured sea, whose saltness for a long way out had vanished with its hue. Haymows were buried to the very top in sand; others went sailing bodily down the mighty stream—some of them followed or surrounded, like big ducks, by a great brood of ricks for their ducklings. Huge trees went past as if shot down an Alpine slide, cottages, and bridges of stone, giving way before them. Wooden mills, thatched roofs, great mill-wheels, went dipping and swaying and hobbling down. From the upper windows of the Mains, looking towards the chief current, they saw a drift of everything belonging to farms and dwelling-houses that would float. Chairs and tables, chests, carts, saddles, chests of drawers, tubs of linen, beds and blankets, workbenches, harrows, girnels, planes, cheeses, churns, spinning-wheels, cradles, iron pots, wheel-barrows—all these and many other things hurried past as they gazed. Everybody was looking, and for a time all had been silent.
“Lord save us!” cried Mr. Duff, with a great start, and ran for his telescope.
A four-post bed came rocking down the river, now shooting straight for a short distance, now slowly wheeling, now shivering, struck by some swifter thing, now whirling giddily round in some vortex. The soaked curtains were flacking and flying in the great wind—and—yes, the telescope revealed it!—there was a figure in it! dead or alive the farmer could not tell, but it lay still!—A cry burst from them all; but on swept the strange boat, bound for the world beyond the flood, and none could stay its course.