“Men,” went on Ramiro, “take this gentleman and lead him to the boat. Hold him if he tries to escape. I will follow with the lady. Go, you fool, go, there is not a second to be lost,” and Adrian, hanging back and protesting, was dragged away by the boatmen.
Now Ramiro was alone, and though, as he had said, there was little time to spare, again for a few moments he thought deeply. His face flushed and went pale; then entered into it a great resolve. “I don’t like doing it, for it is against my vow, but the chance is good. She is safely married, and at best she would be very troublesome hereafter, and might bring us to justice or to the galleys since others seek her wealth,” he muttered with a shiver, adding, “as for the spies, we are well rid of them and their evidence.” Then, with swift resolution, stepping to the door at the foot of the stairs, Ramiro shut it and shot the great iron bolt!
He ran from the mill; the raised path was already three feet deep in water; he could scarcely make his way along it. Ah! there lay the boat. Now he was in it, and now they were flying before the crest of a huge wave. The dam of the cutting had given altogether, and fed from sea and land at once, by snow, by rain, and by the inrush of the high tide, its waters were pouring in a measureless volume over the doomed marshes.
“Where is Elsa?” screamed Adrian.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t find her,” answered Ramiro. “Row, row for your lives! We can take her off in the morning, and the priest too, if he won back.”
At length the cold winter sun rose over the watery waste, calm enough now, for the floods were out, in places ten and fifteen feet deep. Through the mists that brooded on the face of them Ramiro and his crew groped their way back to where the Red Mill should be. It was gone!
There stood the brick walls of the bottom story rising above the flood level, but the wooden upper part had snapped before the first great wave when the bank went bodily, and afterwards been swept away by the rushing current, swept away with those within.
“What is that?” said one of the boatmen, pointing to a dark object which floated among the tangled debris of sere weeds and woodwork collected against the base of the mill.
They rowed to the thing. It was the body of Father Thomas, who must have missed his footing as he ran along the pathway, and fallen into deep water.
“Um!” said Ramiro, “‘a virgin’s curse.’ Observe, friends, how the merest coincidences may give rise to superstition. Allow me,” and, holding the dead man by one hand, he felt in his pockets with the other, till, with a smile of satisfaction, he found the purse containing the gold which he had paid him on the previous evening.