“And be swept away!” cried the squire hoarsely. “Heaven help me! what shall I do?”
He had gripped his son tightly in his agony, and they stood together for a few moments, nearly swept off their feet by the swirling current, when a bright idea flashed across the squire’s mind.
“Quick, Dick! don’t speak. Climb on my back.”
“But, father—”
“Do as I bid you,” roared the squire, stooping a little, and bending down he made of one hand a stirrup for his son’s foot, who, the next moment, was well up on his back.
“That’s better, boy,” panted the squire. “You are safe, and your weight steadies me. I can get on now; it can’t be far.”
As he spoke a light suddenly flashed up a couple of hundred yards ahead, and gleamed strangely over the water like a blood-red stain.
Then it died out, but flashed up again and increased till there was a ruddy path of light before them, and behind the glow stood up the trees, the long, low Priory and the out-buildings, while figures could be seen moving here and there.
“I know,” cried Dick. “I see, father. They’ve lit a bonfire to show us which way to go. Ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” came back in a stentorian shout, and something was thrown upon the fire which dulled it for the moment, but only for it to flash up in a tremendous blaze, with the sparks and flames of fire rushing towards them.