Tibbie's moaning grew gentler and less frequent, and both fell into a
troubled slumber. From this Annie awoke at the sound of Tibbie's voice.
She was talking in her dream.
"Dinna wauk him," she said; "dinna wauk him; he's fell (Germ. viel)
tired and sleepy. Lat the win' blaw, lads. Do ye think He canna see
whan his een are steekit. Gin the watter meddle wi' you, He'll sune lat
it ken it's i' the wrang. Ye'll see 't cowerin' at 's feet like a
colley-dog. I'll jist dight the weet aff o' my Lord's face.--Weel, wauk
him gin ye will. _I_ wad raither gang to the boddom mysel'."
A pause followed. It was clear that she was in a dream-boat, with Jesus
in the hinder part asleep upon a pillow. The sounds of the water
outside had stolen through her ears and made a picture in her brain.
Suddenly she cried out:
"I tellt ye sae! I tellt ye sae! Luik at it! The jaws (waves) gang doon
as gin they war sae mony wholpies!"
She woke with the cry--weeping.
"I thocht _I_ had the sicht o' my een," she said sobbing, "and the Lord
was blin' wi' sleep."
"Do you hear the watter?" said Annie.
"Wha cares for _that_ watter!" she answered, in a tone of contempt. "Do
ye think He canna manage _hit_!"
But there was a _jabble_ in the room beside them, and Annie heard it.
The water was yelping at the foot of the bed.
"The watter's i' the hoose!" cried she, in terror, and proceeded to
rise.
"Lie still, bairn," said Tibbie, authoritatively. "Gin the watter be i'
the hoose, there's no ootgang. It'll be doon afore the mornin'. Lie
still."
Annie lay down again, and Tibbie resumed:
"Gin we be i' the watter, the watter's i' the how o' his han'. Gin we
gang to the boddom, he has only to open's fingers, an' there we are,
lyin' i' the loof o' 's han', dry and warm. Lie still."
And Annie lay so still, that in a few minutes more she was asleep
again. Tibbie slept too.
But Annie woke from a terrible dream--that a dead man was pursuing her,
and had laid a cold hand upon her. The dream was gone, but the cold
hand remained.
"Tibbie!" she cried, "the watter 's i' the bed."
"What say ye, lassie?" returned Tibbie, waking up.
"The watter's i' the bed."
"Weel, lie still. We canna sweyp it oot."
The water was in the bed. And it was pitch dark. Annie, who lay at the
front, stretched her arm over the side. It sunk to the elbow. In a
moment more the bed beneath her was like a full sponge. She lay in
silent terror, longing for the dawn.
"I'm terrible cauld," said Tibbie.
Annie tried to answer her, but the words would not leave her throat.
The water rose. They were lying half-covered with it. Tibbie broke out
singing. Annie had never heard her sing, and it was not very musical.
"Saviour, through the desert lead us.
Without thee, we cannot go.
Are ye waukin', lassie?"
"Ay," answered Annie.
"I'm terrible cauld, an' the watter's up to my throat. I canna muv, I'm
sae cauld. I didna think watter had been sae cauld."
"I'll help ye to sit up a bit. Ye'll hae dreidfu' rheumatize efter
this, Tibbie," said Annie, as she got up on her knees, and proceeded to
lift Tibbie's head and shoulders, and draw her up in the bed.
But the task was beyond her strength. She could not move the helpless
weight, and, in her despair, she let Tibbie's head fall back with a
dull plash upon the bolster.
Seeing that all she could do was to sit and support her, she got out of
bed and waded across the floor to the fireside to find her clothes. But
they were gone. Chair and all had been floated away, and although she
groped till she found the floating chair, she could not find the
clothes. She returned to the bed, and getting behind Tibbie, lifted her
head on her knees, and so sat.
An awful dreary time followed. The water crept up and up. Tibbie moaned
a little, and then lay silent for a long time, drawing slow and feeble
breaths. Annie was almost dead with cold.
Suddenly in the midst of the darkness Tibbie cried out,
"I see licht! I see licht!"
A strange sound in her throat followed, after which she was quite
still. Annie's mind began to wander. Something struck her gently on the
arm, and kept bobbing against her. She put out her hand to feel what it
was. It was round and soft. She said to herself:
"It's only somebody's heid that the water's torn aff," and put her hand
under Tibbie again.
In the morning she found it was a drowned hen.
At length she saw motion rather than light. The first of the awful dawn
was on the yellow flood that filled the floor. There it lay throbbing
and swirling. The light grew. She strained her eyes to see Tibbie's
face. At last she saw that the water was over her mouth, and that her
face was like the face of her father in his coffin. Child as she was,
she knew that Tibbie was dead. She tried notwithstanding to lift her
head out of the water, but she could not. So she crept from under her,
with painful effort, and stood up in the bed. The water almost reached
her knees. The table was floating near the bed. She got hold of it, and
scrambling on to it, sat with her legs in the water. For another long
space, half dead and half asleep, she went floating about, dreaming
that she was having a row in the _Bonnie Annie_ with Alec and Curly. In
the motions of the water, she had passed close to the window looking
down the river, and Truffey had seen her.
Wide awake she started from her stupor at the terrible bang with which
the door burst open. She thought the cottage was falling, and that her
hour was come to follow Tibbie down the dark water.
But in shot the sharp prow of the _Bonnie Annie_, and in glided after
it the stooping form of Alec Forbes. She gave one wailing cry, and
forgot everything.
That cry however had not ceased before she was in Alec's arms. In
another moment, wrapt in his coat and waistcoat, she was lying in the
bottom of the boat.
Alec was now as cool as any hero should be, for he was doing his duty,
and had told the devil to wait a bit with his damnation. He looked all
about for Tibbie, and at length spied her drowned in her bed.
"So much the more chance for Annie and me!" he said. "But I wish I had
been in time."
What was to be done next? Down the river he must go, and they would be
upon the bridge in two moments after leaving the cottage.--He must
shoot the middle arch, for that was the highest. But if he escaped
being dashed against the bridge before he reached the arch, and even
had time to get in a straight line for it, the risk was a terrible one,
with the water within a few feet of the keystone.
But when he shot the _Bonnie Annie_ again through the door of the
cottage, neither arch nor bridge was to be seen, and the boat went down
the open river like an arrow.