'It's up to the drive now,' said Midmore after another long wait. 'And the rain stopped before eight, you know.'
'Then Coxen's dam 'as broke, and that's the first of the flood-water.' She stared out beside him. The water was rising in sudden pulses—an inch or two at a time, with great sweeps and lagoons and a sudden increase of the brook's proper thunder.
'You can't stand all the time. Take a chair,' Midmore said presently.
Rhoda looked back into the bare room. 'The carpet bein' up does make a difference. Thank you, sir, I will 'ave a set-down.'
''Right over the drive now,' said Midmore. He opened the window and leaned out. 'Is that wind up the valley, Rhoda?'
'No, that's it! But I've seen it before.'
There was not so much a roar as the purposeful drive of a tide across a jagged reef, which put down every other sound for twenty minutes. A wide sheet of water hurried up to the little terrace on which the house stood, pushed round either corner, rose again and stretched, as it were, yawning beneath the moonlight, joined other sheets waiting for them in unsuspected hollows, and lay out all in one. A puff of wind followed.
'It's right up to the wall now. I can touch it with my finger.' Midmore bent over the window-sill.
'I can 'ear it in the cellars,' said Rhoda dolefully. 'Well, we've done what we can! I think
