“Beg pardon, sir,” said Jerry. “Mr Frayne, sir?—now?”
“Sleeping, I believe, Brigley. Good-night!”
“No; a bad night!” said Jerry. “Poor S’Richard! I’d give anything to see him again!”
Chapter Nine.
Dead—and Buried.
By the next morning the flood was subsiding rapidly, and at night the muddy meadows began to show that the river was sinking back into its bed.
All that evening boats were out, and people watched in expectation of that which they felt would soon be found.
Twenty-four hours more elapsed, and sheep, caught in hedgerows by the wool, were dragged through the mud and slime.