Dick o the Fens | Page 8

you can hardly feel with me, but I want someone to talk to now, and I may as well tell you that I am going to risk a great deal of money over the draining of the fen."
"Are you, father?"
"Yes, my lad, and I have been feeling a natural shrinking from the risk. To-night sweeps all that away, for in spite of having lived here so many years as I have, I never before felt how needful it all was."
"Do you think so, father?"
"Indeed I do, my lad, for anything more risky than our walk to-night I hardly know. What's that?"
The squire stopped short and grasped his son's arm, as, after a furious gust of wind, the distant murmur of the sea seemed to have been overborne by something different--a confused lapping, trickling, and rushing noise that seemed to come from all parts at once.
"I don't know, father," said Dick, who was slightly startled by his father's manner. "Shall we go on?"
"Yes," said the squire hoarsely. "Let's get home quick."
They started on again, walking fast, but at the end of a minute Dick uttered a cry.
"We're off the road, father. Water!"
As he spoke he was ankle-deep, and in taking a step to catch his son's arm, Squire Winthorpe felt the water splash up around him.
"Can you see the lights at the Priory, Dick?" he said sharply.
"No, father."
"We can't be off the path," said the squire. "Is it boggy and soft under you?"
"No, father--hard; but I'm in the water."
"It's hard here too," said the squire, trying the ground with his feet; "and yet we must be off the road. Stand fast, my boy; don't move."
"Are you going away, father?" said Dick.
"No, only a few yards, boy. I want to see where we got off the track, whether it's to the right or left."
"It's so dark," said Dick, "I can hardly see my hand. Mind how you go, father; there are some deep bog-holes about here."
"Then you stand fast, my boy."
"Hadn't you better stand fast too, father?"
"And both perish in the wet and cold, my boy! No. I'll soon find the road. It must be close by."
Not a tree or post to guide him, nothing but the thick darkness on all sides, as Squire Winthorpe cautiously moved one foot before the other, keeping one upon solid ground while he searched about with the other, and as he moved splash--splish--splash, the water flew, striking cold to his legs, and sending a chill of dread to his very heart.
"It's very strange," he cried; "but don't be frightened, Dick. We shall be all right directly."
"I'm not frightened, father," replied the boy. "I'm puzzled."
"And so am I, my lad, for I did not know we could find such solid bottom off the road. Ah!"
"What's the matter, father?"
"I told you not to move, sir," roared the squire, for he had heard a slight splash on his right.
"I couldn't help it, father; my foot seemed to slip, and--why, here's the road!"
"There?" cried the squire eagerly.
"Yes, father, and my foot's slipped down into a big rut."
"Are you sure, boy?"
"Sure! Yes, father, it is the road. I say, what does it mean?"
The answer was a quick splashing sound, as Squire Winthorpe hurried to his son's side and gripped his arm, to stand there for a few moments listening and thinking as he realised the meaning of the strange rushing, plashing noise that came from all round.
"I know," cried Dick suddenly; "the sea-bank's broke, and we're going to have a flood."
"Yes," said the squire hoarsely; "the bank has gone, my boy."
"Hadn't we better push on, father, before it gets any deeper?"
"Stop a moment, Dick," said the squire, "and let me try to think. Home's safe, because the Priory's on the Toft; but there's Tallington and his wife and boy. We must try and help them."
"Come on, then, father!" cried Dick excitedly.
"No, Dick, that will not do; we shall only be shutting ourselves up too and frightening your mother to death. We must get home and then on to Hickathrift's. He has a big punt there."
"Yes, father, but it hasn't been mended. I saw it this afternoon."
"Then he has wood, and we must make a raft. Come on. Here: your hand."
For a few minutes there was nothing heard but the rushing of the wind and the splash, splash of the water, as they pressed on, the squire cautiously trying to keep one foot by the rut which had guided his son, and, when it became intangible, seeking for some other means to keep them from straying from the submerged road in the darkness, and going off to right or left into the bog.
It was a terrible walk, for they had a full mile to go; and to the squire's horror, he found that it was not only against the wind but also