“If the water keeps on rising,” she said, “we must get out of here.  I am sure the rain will not kill us.”

“That’s true,” I admitted, “but I hope the rain will cease before the flood reaches your ledge.  It’s coming down good and hard now.”

It was pouring torrents.  Though the crippled stream drained only a small territory the current had already reached my knees.  I waded to the east opening and took one glance at the sky.  The outlook was not encouraging, but we could stand another eighteen-inch rise without serious discomfort or danger.  I realised that it would not do to be swept against the tree which partially clogged the further opening.

Half an hour passed and the rain still fell and the water rose inch by inch.  We laughed and joked and were not in the least alarmed.  Then the water lapped over the ledge on which she stood.  She declared that her feet were wet as they possibly could get.

“I can stand it a few more minutes if you can,” she said.  “The rain is ceasing.  You poor Jacques Henri!  It’s all you can do to keep your feet!”

I stoutly denied it.

“I’m having a jolly time!” I declared.  “I see a light in the west.  The rain will cease in a few minutes.”

Even as I spoke the water rose several inches in one wave.  I surmised what had happened.  A dam had formed below us and the water was backing up.  In less than a minute it had risen six inches, and was at her shoe-tops.

“We are drowned out!” I said.  “Let’s get out before we have to swim for it.  Now be steady and remember your training as an equestrienne.  Grab me by the neck and hang on and we’ll be out of here in a minute.”

I lifted her to my left shoulder and with my free right hand steadied myself against the wall of the tunnel.  The bed of the brook was of soft sand and formed a fairly good footing.  Luckily the same cause which so suddenly flooded us out materially lessened the force of the current, but it still struggled fiercely against me, and a false movement on the part of my fair burden might have led to distressing and even serious circumstances.

The water was almost to my waist but her skirts were clear of it.  I slipped once and thought we were in trouble, but we safely reached the opening and it was a happy moment when I placed her on solid ground.  Not that I was tired of my burden—­not at all.  I cheerfully would have attempted the task of carrying her the three miles between us and Pine Top.

A light mist was falling, but we did not notice that.  We stood spellbound, gazing on a scene of unspeakable devastation!

To the north, west and southeast the forest lay prone like a field of wind-swept corn.  Huge oaks and pines were tossed in grotesque windrows.  Here and there gnarled roots projected above the prostrate foliage.  The once proud trees lay like brave soldiers; their limbs rigid in the contorted attitudes of death.