On re-entering the house, I found my wife
more calm than I had dared to anticipate.
She had heard, and comprehended all, and
was hurriedly dressing. In a few minutes
we were both ready. Truly, there was no time
to lose. The floor was already under water.

As we were passing out, my wife suddenly
drew back.

"Frank," she said, "where are Rose and
Martha?"

Leaving my wife in the verandah, I flew to
the servant's room, to find it empty. There
was no response to my call,and the lightning
revealing the disordered state of the bed told
that its occupants were gone.

I searched through every room in vain. As
I was returning to the verandah, the back door
swinging to and fro, arrested my attention.
On examination, I found that the wooden
bar had been removed, and the key had been
turned in the lock; yet I had myself secured
the fastenings on the previous evening.
Evidently they had passed out that way, but
whither?

My search was hasty, for I felt the
necessity of instantaneous flight; but brief
as it was, the water was several inches
deep in the house, when my survey was
completed. Another delay occurred from the
unwillingness of Esther to leave the cottage
without another, and more minute search
for her child; at length the danger became
so imminent, that, having ascertained that
she held our infant securely, I lifted her in
my arms, and sought to bear her to the
crowded refuge on the slopes.

When I arrived at the bottom of the
garden, the water was breast-high, and a
strong rushing current nearly carried me off
my legs. I made another step or two, and
then I was obliged to acknowledge my
inability to proceed.

"Esther, dear, we must return," I said.

Not a word did she utter in reply, as with
a beating heart I retraced my steps.

With difficulty we regained the shelter of
the house. For a time,—short indeed,—the
bedstead served as a platform to keep us out I
of the ever-rising waters. The desolating storm
still raged. We were surrounded by all the
horrors of the Great Deluge, and our hearts
sank within us, as we contemplated our fate.

The flood was still rising, and it became
necessary to devise and execute some prompt
plan of safety and escape. We were
imprisoned in the cottage, and our only hope
lay in the cessation of the storm, and the
consequent subsidence of the waters. Meantime,
it was necessary to elevate ourselves
above their reach; and how to effect this I
knew not, till Esther's ready wit suggested
an expedient.

The ceiling of the cottage was constructed
of white calico, as is frequent in a country
where labour is the dearest commodity in the
market. To remove this would be easy; and
could we but reach the joists, we should gain
an increased altitude of nearly twelve feet;
and the width of the valley rendered it very
improbable that the flood would attain that
height.

I piled box upon box until I could reach
the ceiling, in which I quickly made a sufficient
opening. Then, wrenching off the folding
leaves of a square mahogany table, I placed
them on the joists, platform-wise. A few odd
articles of clothing, and some pillows, rescued
from the bed, were hastily arranged thereon.
My wife, with but slight assistance, climbed
up: not as cheerfully, perhaps, but as quietly,
as though she were stepping into a carriage.
The infant was then handed up; and, lastly,
I also, was compelled to fly from the rapidly
rising waters.

Here, then, in darkness, illumined only by
the flashing lightning we sat. Supporting
my wife, who trembled slightly with
suppressed emotion, I whispered words of peace
and cheerfulness, although I felt neither;
and spoke with assumed confidence of the
morrow. O, how eagerly I longed for the
coming of that morrow's light.

The water gurgled underneath, like a
monster seeking its prey; and as it rose
higher, higher yet, I began to fear that it
would yet sweep us from our elevated refuge.

After about an hour passed thus, the storm
gradually died away; and the stillness that
followed, rendered painfully distinct the roaring
of the mighty flood which now filled the
entire valley of Guudagai. But we knew
that, unless the storm again returned, a
reaction must speedily take place, and therein
lay the germs of ultimate safety.

As if to shatter our easily-excited hopes, a
new fear soon took possession of us. A
heavy, splashing sound, apparently near at
hand, was succeeded by an unusual turbu-
lence of the waters, which swayed to and fro
in the chamber beneath us. Too well I
guessed the cause; but unwilling to be fooled
by trusting to a single sense, I stood up, and
removing a few of the shingles, looked out
through the aperture thus formed in the roof.

My apprehensions were but too
wellfounded. The next house had quite
disappeared—swept away by the waters. What, if
—the foundations sapped—our own cottage
should also be destroyed? The thought was so
terrible, that, cold and wet as I was, the
perspiration stood in great drops on my forehead;
and even now as I write, I cannot recall the
sensations of that hour without painful
emotion. It is one thing to meet death under the
influence of keen excitement; it is another to
face him when caged and helpless,—to see
him coming, to hear every footfall of his slow
approach, and to be unable to struggle or to
fly. Yet such was really our condition.

Daylight broke at last, and found us
anxiously watching. When my strained
vision penetrated the depths below, I saw
with a joy proportioned to my previous
suffering, that the waters were subsiding.