“Oh, mamma, how close it has become! And look there in the distance: what a threatening bank of clouds! I fear we are going to have a storm.”

“I fear so indeed, Mary; we must give our friends warning, and seek out a shelter.”

All had now become conscious of the change. A stagnant heat brooded over everything; not a breath of wind; huge banks of magnificent storm-cloud came marching up majestically from the horizon, throwing out little jets of lightning, with solemn murmurs of thunder. Drop, drop, drop, tinkled on the gathered leaves, now quicker, now quicker, and thicker. Under a huge roof of overhanging rock the party cowered together. At last, down came the storm with a blast like a hurricane, and deluges of rain. On, on it poured relentlessly, with blinding lightning and deafening peals of thunder. Hour after hour! Would it never cease? At last a lull between four and five o’clock, and, as the tempest rolled murmuring away, the dispirited friends began their preparations for returning. Six o’clock before all had reached the inn. Where were the driver and Mark? Another tedious hour before they appeared, and each manifestly the worse for liquor. Past seven by the time they had fairly started. And now the clouds began to gather again. On they went, furiously at first, and then in unsteady jerks, the omnibus swaying strangely. It was getting dark, and the lowering clouds made it darker still. Not a word was spoken by the passengers, but each was secretly dreading the crossing of the stream. At last the bank was gained—but what a change! The little brook had become a torrent deep and strong.

“Oh! For goodness’ sake, stop! Stop! Let us get out,” screamed the Misses Rothwell.

“In with it! In with it!” roared Mark to the driver; “dash through like a trump.”

“Tchuck, tchuck,” was the half-drunken driver’s reply, as he lashed his horses and urged them into the stream.

Down they went: splash! Dash! Plunge! The water foaming against the wheels like a millstream. Screams burst from all the terrified ladies except Mary and her mother, who held each other’s hand tightly. Mrs Franklin had taught her daughter presence of mind both by example and precept. But now the water rushed into the vehicle itself as the frightened horses struggled for the opposite bank. Mark’s voice was now heard in curses, as he snatched the whip from the driver and scourged the poor bewildered horses. Another splash: the driver was gone: the poor animals pulled nobly. Crash! Jerk! Bang! A trace had snapped: another jerk, a fearful dashing and struggling, the omnibus was drawn half out of the water, and lay partly over on its side: then all was still except the wails and the shrieks of the ladies. Happily a lamp had been lighted and still burned in the omnibus, which was now above the full violence of the water. The door was opened and the passengers released; but by whom?—certainly not by Mark. A tall figure moved about in the dusk, and coming up to Mary threw a large cloak over her shoulders, for it was now raining heavily, and said in a voice whose tones she was sure she knew:

“Come with me, my child, your mother is close at hand; there, trust to me; take my other arm, Mrs Franklin: very fortunate I was at hand to help. The drink, the drink,” he muttered in a low voice; “if they’d stuck to the water at the beginning they wouldn’t have stuck in the water at the end.”

And now a light flashed on them: it was the ruddy glow from a forge.

“Come in for a moment,” said their conductor, “till I see what is to be done. Tom Flint, lend us a lantern, and send your Jim to show some of these good people the way to the inn; they’ll get no strong drink there,” he said, half to himself.

And now several of the unlucky company had straggled into the smithy, which was only a few yards from the swollen stream. Among these was Mark, partially sobered by the accident, and dripping from head to foot.

“Here’s some capital stuff to stave off a cold,” he said, addressing Mrs Franklin and her daughter, whose faces were visible in the forge light: at the same time he rilled the cover of a small flask with spirits. “Come, let us be as jolly as we can under the circumstances.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs Franklin; “perhaps a very little mixed with water might be prudent, as Mary, I fear, is very wet.”

Mark stretched out the cup towards her, but before a drop could be taken the tall stranger had stepped forward, and snatching it, had emptied its contents on the glowing coals. Up there shot a brilliant dazzling flame to the smoky roof, and in that vivid blaze Mrs Franklin and Mary both recognised in their timely helper none other than Mr Esau Tankardew.