"Bertha, we must die. There is no help for us now. The river is rising. It has covered the island. Our raft is gone. Death will be upon us soon."
With a wild cry the girl bounded to her feet and rushed from the hut. The turbid flood stretched all around her, and she stood in water over her feet. She turned and looked at Ben, so pityingly, as if for relief. Oh, the helpless agony of that look! He turned away his head with a groan, and did not dare to look at her again. So he stood, bowed down by unutterable woe, for some moments; the cruel waters steadily and stealthily—oh, how stealthily creeping, creeping, creeping, with a low plash, plash, plash, like the dull senseless whisper of a devil—rising around him. Then a little hand was placed in his and an arm laid upon his neck: "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come thy will be done—." He raised his head and looked at her beside him. There was no fear there now, no tremor. The face upturned to heaven was the face of an angel. "Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven." Then in a clear, silvery voice, that neither trembled or quavered, the souls of both were confided to the mercy of Him above, and His protection and care invoked for those who should remain upon earth. There was no supplication for life, for all hope now left was a hope for the life immortal. Long did that lovely being appeal to the Most High, and ere she was through, a strange quiet of mind and peace of heart had come to Ben.
When the prayer was ended they locked their arms about one another and stood—waiting for death.
Slowly, but how awfully sure, the waters rose around them. Already the ripples reached their hands as they stood erect. Soon they would be up to their breasts. A slight current was already agitating the eddy that covered the bar, and it caused the tops of the cottonwoods to nod and bend in the water. A little while longer and the current would become a torrent, irresistible in its might and fury. Once she looked up in his face, and said:
"Is it not hard to die, dear friend?"
And Ben answered: "No, perhaps it is best," and he thought death was a relief. It had lost its terrors and he did not fear it.
"Bertha," he said, "it cannot matter now,—but—it would be a last earthly happiness to me—tell me, do you love me?"
"With all my heart," she replied.
"God bless you, my darling," he cried.
"God bless us both," she said. "Good-bye," and they kissed one another a last farewell, forever.