‘Your staff! Throw me your staff!’ shrieked Feagus, and glancing round he saw the bog descending like a snake towards Blake’s Hall. Then an extraordinary phenomenon took place. The bog, meeting the river just where the bridge had fallen, blocked it like an enormous dam and then crawled like a monster over it. The result was instantaneous. The river, arrested in its course, began to swell up, deepen, and push backward on itself. There was not a moment to be lost if it was to be crossed again.
‘Throw me your staff, for the love of God!’ cried Feagus.
Conseltine hesitated for a moment, then cast the stick across the flood with all his might; it fell close to Feagus, who gripped it eagerly, and then, with a cry, plunged forward into the water. His progress was at first comparatively easy, but as the water deepened, it became more and more difficult to keep his foothold. With face set hard and eyes protruding, he struggled on.
After watching him for a moment, Conseltine ran from the bank, followed the side of the stream, and stood on the point of land of which he had spoken, some forty yards below. Standing there, he waited for results.
Straining every nerve, and praying aloud, the lawyer reached the middle of the stream, and paused for a moment, gasping for breath. Then the roar of the flood, and the rush of water and wind, seemed to blind and confuse him, and he seemed giving way. But with a mighty effort he kept his feet, and even then all might have gone well with him but for an accidental impediment—the half-submerged trunk of a tree, which rolled over and over, struck the staff from his hands and took him off his feet. With a shriek, he was swept headlong into the flood, and disappeared.
Only for a few moments—then, haggard and ghastly, his head re-emerged, drifting towards the point where Conseltine stood. A good swimmer, he struck boldly out, and was helped by the current. All he was conscious of was the rushing water around him, and the figure of Conseltine coming nearer and nearer.
As Conseltine had explained, the current swept right to the point, close to which there was some shallow water. Strong and wiry as a terrier, Feagus made his way thither, fighting for his life. He was close to the point, his feet touched solid ground, and he could see Conseltine close to him, looking calmly down, when his force foiled him and he was whirled round like a straw.
‘Save me!’ he shrieked, reaching out his hands.
By wading forward, and gripping the hands so outstretched, Conseltine, with little or no danger to himself, could have drawn him into the shallows, but, instead of so doing, he looked at the miserable man and made no effort to assist him. The opportunity of the moment passed, and with a shriek of despair Feagus was swept away.