"The grey can carry double. You can ride with him. I will go ahead. The flood is coming. It is near. I know the signs."
Agueda drew away from the hand which Uncle Adan laid upon her wrist.
"Let me go, uncle," she said.
Uncle Adan released her.
"The flood will last but a day or two," he whispered in her ear, "but it will be a deep one. All the signs point to that. We have never had such a one; but after—Agueda, after—there will be no one to interfere with you—with me, if—"
Agueda allowed him to push her on toward the end of the veranda, where the two were still singing in a desultory way.
"I shall warn them," she said.
"Him!" said Uncle Adan, in a tone of dictation.
"I shall warn them," again said Agueda, as if she had not spoken before.