When Alec looked out of his window the next morning, he saw a broad
yellow expanse below. The Glamour was rolling, a mighty river, through
the land. A wild waste foamy water, looking cold and torn and troubled,
it swept along the fields where late the corn had bowed to the autumn
winds. But he had often seen it as high. And all the corn was safe in
the yard.
Neither he nor his mother regretted much that they could not go to
church. Mrs Forbes sat by the fire and read Hannah More's _Christian
Morals_, and Alec sat by the window reading James Montgomery's _World
before the Flood_, and watching the river, and the splashing of the
rain in the pluvial lake, for the water was nearly a foot deep around
the house, although it stood upon a knoll of gravel.
All night Tibbie Dyster had lain awake in her lonely cottage, listening
to the quiet heavy _go_ of the water from which all the sweet babbling
sounds and delicate music-tones had departed. The articulation of the
river-god was choked in the weight and hurry of its course to the
expectant sea. Tibbie was still far from well, had had many relapses,
and was more than ever convinced that the Lord was going to let her see
his face.
Annie would have staid with her that Saturday night, as she not
unfrequently did, had she not known that Mrs Bruce would make it a
pretext for giving her no change of linen for another week.
The moment Bruce entered the chapel--for no weather deprived him of his
Sabbath privileges--Annie, who had been his companion so far, darted
off to see Tibbie. When Bruce found that she had not followed him, he
hurried to the door, but only to see her halfway down the street. He
returned in anger to his pew, which he was ashamed of showing thus
empty to the eyes of his brethren. But there were many pews in like
condition that morning.
The rain having moderated a little in the afternoon, the chapel was
crowded in the evening. Mrs Bruce was the only one of the Bruce-family
absent. The faces of the congregation wore an expectant look, for they
knew Mr Turnbull would _improve the occasion_: he always sought
collateral aid to the influences of the truth, and sometimes attempted
to suborn Nature herself to give effect to his persuasions. The text he
had chosen was: "But as the days of Noe were, so shall also the coming
of the Son of Man be." He made no allusion to the paper which the rain
was busy washing off the door of the chapel; nor did he wish to remind
the people that this was the very day foreseen by the bill-sticking
prophet, as appointed for the advent of judgment. But when, in the
middle of the sermon, a flash of lightning seemed to extinguish the
array of candles, and was followed by an instant explosion of thunder,
and a burst of rain, as if a waterspout had broken over their heads,
coming down on the roof like the trampling of horses and the noise of
chariot-wheels, the general start and pallor of the congregation showed
that they had not forgotten the prediction. This then was the way in
which judgment was going to be executed: a second flood was about to
sweep them from the earth. So, although all stared at the minister as
if they drank in every word of his representation of Noah's flood, with
its despairing cries, floating carcases, and lingering deaths on the
mountain-tops as the water crept slowly up from peak to peak, yet they
were much too frightened at the little flood in the valley of two
rivers, to care for the terrors of the great deluge of the world, in
which, according to Mr Turnbull, eighty thousand millions of the sons
and daughters of men perished, or to heed the practical application
which he made of his subject. For once the contingent of nature was too
powerful for the ends of the preacher.
When the service was over, they rushed out of the chapel.
Robert Bruce was the first to step from the threshold up to the ankles
in water. The rain was falling--not in drops, but in little streams.
"The Lord preserve 's!" he exclaimed. "It's risen a fit (foot) upo'
Glamerton a'ready. And there's that sugar i' the cellar! Bairns, rin
hame yer lanes. I canna bide for ye."
And he was starting off at the top of his speed.
"Hoots! man," cried Thomas Crann, who came behind him, "ye're sae sair
ta'en up wi' the warl, 'at ye hae nae room for ordinar' common sense.
Ye're only stannin' up to the mou's o' yer shune i' the hole 'at ye
unnertook yersel' to fill up wi' the lime 'at was ower efter ye had
turned yer dry stane dyke intil a byre-wa'."
Robert stepped out of the hole and held his tongue. At that moment,
Annie was slipping past him to run back to Tibbie. He made a pounce
upon her and grabbed her by the shoulder.
"Nae mair o' this, Annie!" he said. "Come hame for cowmon dacency, and
dinna gang stravaguin' in a nicht like this, naebody kens whaur."
"A' body kens whaur," returned Annie. "I'm only gaun to sleep wi'
Tibbie Dyster, puir blin' body!"
"Lat the blin' sleep wi' the blin', an' come ye hame wi' me," said
Robert oracularly, abusing several texts of Scripture in a breath, and
pulling Annie away with him. "Ye'll be drooned afore the mornin' in
some hole or ither, ye fashous rintheroot! And syne wha'll hae the wyte
o' 't?"
Heartily vexed and disappointed, Annie made no resistance, for she felt
it would be uncomely. And how the rain did pour as they went home! They
were all wet to the skin in a moment except Mr Bruce, who had a big
umbrella, and reasoned with himself that his Sabbath clothes were more
expensive than those of the children.
The best way certainly was to send the wet ones to bed as soon as they
got home. But how could Annie go to bed when Tibbie was lying awake
listening for her footsteps, and hearing only the sounds of the rising
water? She made up her mind what to do. Instead of going into her room,
she kept listening on the landing for the cessation of footsteps. The
rain poured down on the roof with such a noise, and rushed so fiercely
along the spouts, that she found it difficult to be sure. There was no
use in changing her clothes only to get them wet again, and it was well
for her that the evening was warm. But at length she was satisfied that
her gaolers were at supper, whereupon she stole out of the house as
quietly as a kitten, and was out of sight of it as quickly. Not a
creature was to be seen. The gutters were all choked and the streets
had become river-beds, already torn with the rush of the ephemeral
torrents. But through it all she dashed fearlessly, bounding on to
Tibbie's cottage.
"Eh, preserve's! sic a nicht, Peter Whaup!" said Peter's wife to Peter
as he sat by the fire with his cutty in his teeth. "It'll be an awfu'
spate."
"Ay will't," rejoined Peter. "There's mair water nor whusky already.
Jist rax doon the bottle, gudewife. It tak's a hantle to quawlifee sic
weet's this. Tak' a drappy yersel', 'oman, to haud it oot."
"Ye hae had plenty, Peter. _I_ dinna want nane. Ye're a true smith,
man: ye hae aye a spark i' yer throat."
"Toots! There never was sic a storm o' water sin' the ark o' the
covenant--"
"Ye mean Noah's ark, Peter, man."
"Weel, weel! onything ye like. It's a' the same, ye ken. I was only
jist remarkin' that we haena sic a fa' o' rain ilka day, an' we sud
jist haud the day in min', pay 't respec' like, keep it wi' a tumler,
ye ken--cummummerate it, as they ca' 't. Rax doon the bottle, lass, and
I'll jist gie a luik oot an' see whether the water's likely to come in
ower the door-sill; for gin it ance crosses the thrashol', I doot there
wonno be whusky eneuch i' the hoose, and bein' the Sawbath nicht, we
canna weel win at ony mair."
Thus entreated, Mistress Whaup got the bottle down. She knew her
husband must have whisky, and, like a wise woman, got him to take as
large a proportion of the immitigable quantity as possible at home.
Peter went to the door to reconnoitre.
"Guid guide 's!" he cried; "there's a lassie run by like a maukin
(hare), wi' a splash at ilka fit like a wauk-mill. An' I do believe it
was Annie Anderson. Will she be rinnin' for the howdie (midwife) to
Mistress Bruce? The cratur'll be droont. I'll jist rin efter her."
"An' be droont yersel, Peter Whaup! She's a wise lass, an' can tak care
o' hersel. Lat ye her rin."
But Peter hesitated.
"The water's bilin'," cried Mrs Whaup.
And Peter hesitated no longer.
Nor indeed could he have overtaken Annie if he had tried. Before
Peter's tumbler was mixed she was standing on the stone across the
dyer's _dam_, looking down into the water which had risen far up the
perpendicular sides of its rocky conduit. Across the stone the water
from the street above was pouring into the Glamour.
"Tibbie," she said, as she entered the cottage, "I doobt there's gaun
to be a terrible spate."
"Lot it come," cried Tibbie. "The bit hoosie's fund't upon a rock, and
the rains may fa', and the wins may blaw, and the floods may ca at the
hoosie, but it winna fa', it canna fa', for it's fund't upo' a rock."
Perhaps Tibbie's mind was wandering a little, for when Annie entered,
she found her face flushed, and her hands moving restlessly. But what
with this assurance of her confidence, and the pleasure of being with
her again, Annie thought no more about the waters of the Glamour.
"What keepit ye sae lang, lassie?" said Tibbie wearily after a moment's
silence, during which Annie had been redisposing the peats to get some
light from the fire.
She told her the whole story.
"And hae ye had nae supper?"
"Na. But I dinna want ony."
"Pit aff yer weet claes than, and come to yer bed."
Annie crept into the bed beside her--not dry even then, for she was
forced to retain her last garment. Tibbie was restless, and kept
moaning, so that neither of them could sleep. And the water kept
sweeping on faster, and rising higher up the rocky mound on which the
cottage stood. The old woman and the young girl lay within and listened
fearless.