raging torrent, and was trusting to Hugh for aid.
"What is it, old man?" he asked quietly, just loud enough to be heard above the noise of the waters. "What do you want me to do?"
The old ewe brushed close to him, as if she too looked to him for aid. If the light had been better, he could have seen the despair and agony in her quiet eyes. He studied closely the white patches on the river. He did not have the feline's eyes, to see plain in the half-dark, and the dog's were better able to penetrate the gloom than his. But slowly he grew accustomed to the half-darkness, and he knew the truth.
The lamb still struggled in the driftwood. And for one fraction of a second he thought that he saw something else.
It seemed to him that two strange, sinister lights suddenly glowed from the thickets on the opposite bank; then went out. They were close together, and they were round, and they were just alike. They were not twinkling lights: but rather were a strange blue-green like the flame that plays about an alcohol burner. No human being could have seen those dreadful blue disks and ignored them: their terror went too deep for that. Man knows the terror of lightning, the dread (as well as the love) of fire, the fear of flooding waters, but he knows those two twin circles best of all. They carry him back to the first great Terror; they waken memories from
