foot deep as yet. Yo'll do it varra well--but yo'd best not lose time!"

"Edmund!"--screamed the voice from inside--"Edmund!--let me out--let me
out at once--I shall stay here with baby for the night."

Mr. Melrose took no notice whatever.

"Can you send those men of yours alongside us--in case there is any
danger of the coachman losing the road?" he said, addressing the man.

"Aye, they'll keep along t' bank with the lanterns. Noa fear, missis, noa
fear!"

Another scream from inside. Mr. Melrose shut the window abruptly, and the
coachman whipped up his horses.

"Let me get out, Edmund!--I will _not_ go on!"

Melrose brought a hand of iron down on his wife's wrist.

"Be quiet, Netta! Of all the little idiots!--There now, the brat's
begun!"--for the poor babe, awakened, had set up a wail. "Damn it!"--he
turned fiercely to the nurse--"Keep it quiet, will you?"

On swayed the carriage, the water splashing against the wheels. Carried
by the two labourers who walked along a high bank beside the road, a
couple of lanterns threw their wavering light on the flooded highway,
the dripping, wind-lashed trees, the steaming horses. The yellow rays
showed the whirling eddies of autumnal leaves, and found fantastic
reflection in the turbid water through which the horses were struggling.