At irregular intervals (for the action is uncertain and governed by undiscovered causes) there pours from the foot of Cawden and from a usually dry outlet a flood of water which has cut a deep channel at the foot of the somewhat steep bank that flanks one side of the Gordel road at this point. The bank shelves down to the Tarn road, and there the torrent discharges itself upon the roadway, raging along its improvised bed on its mad rush to the river with such force that the road is not infrequently washed bare to the rock. For several hours the flood may continue, and subside as quickly as it arose; and years may elapse before there is any return of the eruption.
It was one of these capricious outbursts with which Nancy was now confronted, and her passage was stopped by the sheet of water that spread over the junction of the two roads for a considerable area and was of uncertain depth. One glance told her that she must not attempt to ford the stream there, and a second showed her that there was an easy alternative. She had only to walk a few steps up the green and it would be a simple matter to leap from the bank to the road, for the water was still confined to its deep but narrow channel.
Not a soul was in sight though she heard men’s voices not far away. No anticipation of difficulty troubled her, however; she could almost stride across such an insignificant chasm; and she quickened her steps in order to accomplish the movement before those who were approaching should be at hand to poke fun at her.
That unnecessary haste was fatal. The bank was soft and muddy, and her shoe caught in it as she jumped. She reached the other side but fell back, and the baby was swept from her arms....
They carried her home, senseless: some said dead, like the infant which Jagger bore in his arms. It was he and Jack Pearce whose voices Nancy had heard. It was he who ran and seized the child but could not save its fragile life. When they reached the village women pressed forward to look on the white face of the mother, but gave no thought to the bairn which might have been sleeping, for aught they knew, on Jagger’s breast.
The whole place was astir by the time they came to the bridge, and as the procession of bearers and followers passed up the street Inman was seen striding towards it. At sight of him Jagger hurried forward.
“Nancy’s stunned!” he explained. “She fell crossing t’ stream up above yonder. She may ha’ hurt her head; but I doubt it isn’t that—t’ baby’s dead: drowned!”
Without a word Inman took the child upon his own arm and turned homewards. Jagger hesitated. A few yards separated them from the nearest of the crowd.
“I’m downright sorry, lad!” he said with an effort.
“To the devil with your sorrow!” Inman answered; and Jagger left him.