both looked around. During the last few minutes the late morning seemed to have forced its way through the clouds. They had a dim, phantasmagoric view of the stricken country: a watery plain, with here and there great patches of fields, submerged to the hedges, and houses standing out amidst the waste of waters like toy dwellings. There were whole plantations of uprooted trees. Close to the road, on their left, was a roofless house, and a family of children crying underneath a tarpaulin shelter. As they crept on, the wind came to them with a brackish flavour, salt with the sea. The chauffeur was gazing ahead doubtfully.
“I don’t like the look of the marsh,” he grumbled. “Can’t see the road at all. However, here goes.”
“Another half-hour,” Gerald assured him encouragingly, “and we shall be at St. David’s Hall. You can have as much rest as you like then.”
They were facing the wind now, and conversation became impossible. Twice they had to pull up sharp and make a considerable detour, once on account of a fallen tree which blocked the road, and another time because of the yawning gap where a bridge had fallen away. Gerald, however, knew every inch of the country they were in and was able to give the necessary directions. They began to meet farm wagons now, full of people who had been driven from their homes. Warnings and information as to the state of the roads were shouted to them continually. Presently they came to the last steep descent, and emerged from the devastated fragment of a wood almost on to the sea level. The chauffeur clapped on his brakes and stopped short.
“My God!” he exclaimed. “Here’s more trouble!”
Gerald for a moment was speechless. They seemed to have come suddenly upon a huge plain of waters, an immense lake reaching as far as they could see on either side. The road before them stretched like a ribbon for the next three miles. Here and there it disappeared and reappeared again. In many places it was lapped by little waves. Everywhere the hedges were either altogether or half under water. In the distance was one farmhouse, only the roof of which was visible, and from which the inhabitants were clambering into a boat. And beyond, with scarcely a break save for the rising of one strangely-shaped hill, was the sea. Gerald pointed with his finger.
“There’s St. David’s Hall,” he said, “on the other side of the hill. The road seems all right.”
“Does it!” the chauffeur grunted. “It’s under water more than half the way, and Heaven knows how deep it is at the sides! I’m not going to risk my life along there. I am going to take the car back to Holt.”
His hand was already upon the reverse lever, but Gerald gripped it.
“Look here,” he protested, “we haven’t come all this way to turn back. You don’t look like a coward.”
“I am not a coward, sir,” was the quiet answer. “Neither am I a fool. I don’t see any use in risking our lives and my master’s motor-car, because you want to get home.”
“Naturally,” Gerald answered calmly, “but remember this. I am responsible for your car—not you. Mr. Fentolin is my uncle.”
The chauffeur nodded shortly.
“You’re Mr. Gerald Fentolin, aren’t you, sir?” he remarked. “I thought I recognised you.”
“I am,” Gerald admitted. “We’ve had a rough journey, but it doesn’t seem sense to turn back now, does it, with the house in sight?”
“That’s all very well, sir,” the chauffeur objected doubtfully, “but I don’t believe the road’s even passable, and the floods seem to me to be rising.”
“Try it,” the young man begged. “Look here, I don’t want to bribe you, or anything of that sort. You know you’re coming out of this well. It’s a serious matter for me, and I shan’t be likely to forget it. I want to take this gentleman to St. David’s Hall and not to a hospital. You’ve brought me here so far like a man. Let’s go through with it. If the worst comes to the worst, we can both swim, I suppose, and we are not likely to get out of our depth.”
The chauffeur moved his head backwards.
“How about him?”
“He must take his chance,” Gerald replied. “He’s all right where he is. The car won’t upset and there are plenty of people who’ll see if we get into trouble. Come, let’s make a dash for it.”
The chauffeur thrust in his clutch and settled himself down. They glided off along that winding stretch of road. To its very edge, on either side of them, so close that they could almost touch it, came the water, water which stretched as far as they could see, swaying, waveless, sinister-looking. Even Gerald, after his first impulse of wonder, kept his eyes averted and fixed upon the road ahead. Soon they reached a place where the water met in front. There were only the rows of white palings on either side to guide them. The chauffeur muttered to himself as he changed to his first speed.
“If the engine gets stopped,” he said, “I don’t know how we shall get out of this.”
They emerged on the other side. For some time they had a clear run. Then suddenly the driver clapped on his brakes.
“My God!” he cried. “We can’t get through that!”
In front of them for more than a hundred yards the water seemed suddenly to have flowed across the road. Still a mile distant, perched on a ridge of that strangely-placed hill, was their destination.
“It can’t be done, sir!” the man groaned. “There isn’t a car ever built could get through that. See, it’s nearly up to the top of those posts. I must put her in the reverse and get back, even if we have to wait on the higher part of the road for a boat.”
He glanced behind, and a second cry broke from his lips. Gerald stood up in his place. Already the road which had been clear a few minutes before was hidden. The water was washing almost over the tops of the white posts behind them. Little waves were breaking against the summit of the raised bank.
“We’re cut off!” the chauffeur exclaimed. “What a fool I was to try this! There’s the tide coming in as well!”
Gerald sat down in his place.
“Look here,” he said, “we can’t go back, whether we want to or not. It’s much worse behind there than it is in front. There’s only one chance. Go for it straight ahead in your first speed. It may not stop the engine. In any case, it will be worse presently. There’s no use funking it. If the worst happens, we can sit in the car. The water won’t be above our heads and there are some boats about. Blow your horn well first, in case there’s any one within hearing, and then go for it.”
The chauffeur obeyed. They hissed and spluttered into the water. Soon all trace of the road was completely lost. They steered only by the tops of the white posts.
“It’s getting deeper,” the man declared. “It’s within an inch or two of the bonnet now. Hold on.”
A wave broke almost over them but the engine continued its beat.
“If we stop now,” he gasped, “we’re done!”
The engine began to knock.
“Stick at it,” Gerald cried, rising in his place a little. “Look, there’s
