For the letter touched the
two poles of extreme happiness and utmost possible sorrow. "Mister Jan" was
calling her to him indeed, but only calling her that she might see him die.
Careless of her steps, soothed unconsciously by rapid motion, she walked
from the farm, her mind full of joy and grief; and the night, silent no
longer for her, was full of a voice crying "Come to me, Joan, love, come!"
CHAPTER SIX
THE FLOOD
In the coomb beneath Drift, flashing as though red-hot from a theater of
Cimmerian blackness, certain figures, flame-lighted, flickered hurriedly
this way and that about a dark and monstrous pile which rose in their
midst. From the adjacent hill, superstitious watchers might have supposed
that they beheld some demoniac throng newly burst oat of the bowels of
earth and to be presently re-engulfed; but seen nearer, the toiling
creatures, fighting with all their hearts and souls to save a haystack from
flood, had merely excited human interest and commiseration. Farmer Chirgwin
and his men were girt as to the legs in old-fashioned hay-bands; some held
torches while others toiled with ropes to anchor the giant rick against the
gathering waters. There was no immediate fear, for the pile still stood a
clear foot above the stream on a gentle undulation distant nearly two yards
from the present boundary of the swollen river. But, on the landward side,
another danger threatened, because in that quarter the meadow sank in a
slight hollow which had now changed to a lake fed by a brisk rivulet from
the main river.
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