'To you—never!'
Without consideration Mark drove the burning torch against his hand that clasped the girl.
With a shriek Drownlands relaxed his hold.
At that moment, Ephraim, who had descended carefully, had laid hold of the flail above where Drownlands' hand had clutched it. He stooped, and, exerting his full force from above, drew it forth from the clay in which it was fast.
At once Drownlands slid away in the stream. Still clinging to the flail, he was carried off his feet, out of the range of light cast by the torch, and under water.
'Go!' said Beamish, waving his hand over the torrent. 'Go! thou accuser of thy brethren! Go, wash away thy sins in the water that drowns thee!'
He saw the flood before him glittering like gold. He looked round. The gangers had come—summoned by Kainie.
'Save him! save him!' cried Zita.
'Where is he?—who can say? Carried forth into the outer darkness; rolled away in the baptismal flood—who can say whither?' answered Ephraim.
'No,' said one of the gangers. 'No help is possible.'