They were thus threatened with a flood, for the water was rising every moment and slowly creeping up to their feet, narrowing the little peninsula on which their habitation stood.
That was not the worst either!
While they were pondering as to the best means for extricating themselves from the danger of being washed away, a new one arose.
Through the melting of the snow on the mountains above, a sparkling cascade commenced all at once to leap down the face of the cliff at the back of the house, right on to the roof over their heads.
This was serious; for, should this peril not be guarded against and some sort of pent-house put up as a shield, the slight timber work of the roof would soon be crushed in and swept away by the ever-increasing weight of the falling water.
In the midst of these imminent dangers, a phenomenon occurred which for the moment appalled everybody, not even excepting Mr Meldrum—it was so strange, so awe-inspiring!
It commenced snowing again; but there was nothing unusual in that. What was unusual was, that the flakes which fell, instead of being white, were as black as ink!
What could the awful portent foretell?
It was inexplicable.