To
her the peninsula seemed sinking. She could not see anything distinctly.
Foam specked the panes. The bells kept up their alarm. Father Olivier
was probably standing on the belfry ladder cheering his black ringer,
and the sisters took turns at their rope with that determined calmness
which was the rule of their lives. Peggy tried to see even the roof of
her home. She was a grateful daughter; but her most anxious thoughts
were not of the father and mother whose most anxious thoughts would be
of her.
When the fury of the cloudburst had passed over, and the lightning no
longer flickered in their faces, and the thunder growled away in the
southeast, the risen water began to show its rolling surface. A little
moonlight leaked abroad through cloudy crevices. Angelique was bathing
her mother's face with camphor; for Madame Saucier sat down and fainted
comfortably, when nothing else could be done. Something bumped against
the side of the house, and crept crunching and bumping along, and a
voice hailed them.
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