"How dare you bring that light? Put it out!" ordered Beltran.
"We must see to get to the roof," answered Agueda, with determination.
"The roof! The water is not deep. See, Felisa, it is only a foot deep. The grey can carry you and me with safety."
"Does not the Señor know that the horses have stampeded?" said Agueda. "Our only hope of safety now lies upon the roof. We must get to the roof. See how the water is already getting deeper."
And now, Agueda, her listlessness gone, ran into the casa and seized upon what she knew was necessary for a night in the open air. Beltran followed her into the hall. He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and shook her angrily. His judgment seemed to have deserted him.
"Why did you not warn us?" he said. "Was it a part of your plan to—to—"
"My plan!" said Agueda. "Have I not begged you? I could have gone—Uncle Adan told me—"
Beltran seized the lantern and ran out and along the veranda to where Felisa stood clinging to the pilotijo. She was crying wildly.
As Beltran approached, the light of his lantern revealed to Felisa more fully the horror of her surroundings. A fierce wind had arisen in a moment, and was beating and threshing the trees, flail-like, downward upon the encroaching river. Felisa turned upon Beltran in fury. She pointed with tragic earnestness to the waters which now surrounded the casa, and which had assumed the proportions of a lake. A thin stream was reaching, reaching over from the edge of the veranda; its searching point wetted her shoe.
"You should have told me that such things happen in this barbarous place! You pretend to love me, and to keep me with you, you keep me ignorant of my danger, and now I must die. I must be drowned far away from my home in a savage land, all because you pretend that you love me! Oh, God! I am so young to die! So young to die!"