"Christ, have pity! the dyke has burst!" exclaimed Katrina. "The flood comes pouring----Mercy! how it sweeps in by the peat-field!"
"The peat-field! Then we are lost," cried Gertrude. "Where----"
"Mother!" said Christian, "say grace, and let us go."
Not one word of the long grace was omitted or hurried, or pronounced in a less steady voice than usual. When it was ended, Mrs. Snoek issued her orders.
"To the upper rooms, my children! Christian, we will carry you to the top of the house. Katrina, ring the great bell. It may be heard as far as the village. But first, close all the lower shutters. They may be some little defence. And, Gertrude, we must put out a flag from the roof."
"The summer-house!" suggested Christian. "The boat is there."
"True, true. We will get to the summer-house, if there is still time."
There was time, as the summer-house stood on high ground, and the water had not yet reached the lowest part of the garden. The servants and children ran as for their lives. Mrs. Snoek and Gertrude, who carried Christian's little couch between them, walked more slowly, and stopped at a seat half-way up the gravel walk. There they looked around, and perceived that their abode and its precincts formed a little island in the midst of a flood, which was rapidly advancing on every side, as if to close them in. Tossing waves were chasing each other over the green fields, swallowing up all that came in their way; while the terrified cattle, for the most part, ran towards the farm-buildings on the little dyke below, as if to find safety there; and a few endeavoured to keep their footing in the midst of the tide, lashing with their tails every swell that came to buffet them. The trim garden, with its gay beds, shone in the evening light with as quiet an air as if its low hedge formed a sufficient security from the deluge, while a sunny haze hung like a canopy over its recesses, and made the tranquillity of the upper air contrast strangely with the watery surface, which seemed troubled by storm. Far off, the village rose upon the loftier dyke which bordered the canal, its grey willows looking as firmly rooted, its houses as spruce as when no one dreamed of its being within the reach of accident. Thither Gertrude's gaze was turned intently.
"Thank God! the whole country round is not under water," she cried. "It is only the section between the north canal and Winkel. Thank God! there are but few in jeopardy."
Christian could perceive that people were gathering on the dyke of the north canal; and both they and the Winkel people seemed wholly occupied in watching the section which lay between. Not a face appeared to be turned the other way.