Suddenly Agueda was conscious of something creeping against her foot. It was cold! Good God! It was wet! The sole of her shoe was soaked; the river had reached even there. She heard the licking of those hungry lips which were ready to drink in the helpless souls stranded at their mercy. This was indeed a sudden rising! Then there was no hope. She wondered how long it would be before Beltran would learn the fact, and what he would do when the truth came to him. She drew herself up by the iron staple and curled her body half way round the chimney. Her ear touched the ruffles of Felisa's gown. She heard a tender voice speaking much as it had to her a year ago.

"Come closer," it said. "Do not fear. I am here."

"Beltran!" she called. "Beltran!"

"Who calls me?" came his voice from out the blackness. "You, Agueda?"

"Yes, it is I, Agueda. The river is rising very high. It has come up quickly. I felt it against my foot. Can you not try to catch some tree or branch?"

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Save me!" It was Felisa's voice. "Why did I ever come to this accursed island? Why, oh, why? How dared you tell me that I was safe! Safe with you? Oh, my God! Safe with you! Are you greater than God? If He cannot save me, can you?"

As Felisa shrieked these words, which were almost drowned by the sound of the swiftly rushing waters, she raised her small fist and struck at Beltran. The jewels on her fingers cut his lip.

His musical voice, patient and still tender, answered as if to a naughty child.

"Careful! you will throw yourself off! Agueda, why must you come here frightening my cousin? When the moon rises she will see the falseness of your story."

As if to convict him out of his own mouth, the moon suddenly shone through a rift in the black clouds which edged the horizon. It discovered to Agueda Felisa clasped to a resting-place that was her own by right. It showed her Beltran holding the little form in his arms, as once he had held her own. It showed her Beltran covering the blonde head with passionate kisses, as once he had covered her darker one.

Agueda clutched the chimney for support. Death was no worse than this.

Felisa opened her trembling lids and gazed abroad on the expanse of waters. Wail after wail issued from her white lips and mingled with the wind that blew wantonly the tendrils of her hair. She struck Beltran in the face again, she pushed him from her with the fury of a maniac.

Great trees and branches were pounding against the roof. The peons had climbed to the highest point, and now, as a trunk came tearing down toward them, with a pitying glance at those they left behind, and a chuckle at their own presence of mind, they caught at it, and were whirled away to death or to succour.

Don NoÉ, ever on the watch, with face thin and fierce, with nostrils extended and eyes wild and staring, peered round the chimney where he hung in prayerful terror. His resolution was made in one of those sudden moments of decision that come to the weakest. Watching his chance, he sprang and clutched at the giant as it came bobbing and wobbling by, and in company with Palandrez and Eduardo Juan, he floated away from his late companions.

Agueda, left alone upon her side of the roof, crouched, looking ever toward the south, searching for a cask, a boat, a tree, a plank, a piece of household furniture, anything by which she might hold and save her life and Beltran's. Not Felisa's; that she could not do, even though Beltran loved her.

Until now Agueda had thought that she longed for death; but the instinct of self-preservation is strong, and she could hardly comprehend her newly awakened desire to seize upon some sort of floating thing which might mean safety for herself. She stood gazing over the broad expanse of water. It had become a sea. The face of nature was changed. The position of the river bank was discernible only from the waving line of branches which testified where their trunks stood. There were one or two oases whose tops showed still above the surface of the stretching, reaching flood. Agueda thought that she could discern some one in a treetop near the hill rancho. She wondered if it could be Uncle Adan. She thought that she heard a shout. She tried to answer, but the weak sound of her voice was forced back into her throat. It would not carry against the force of the wind. No other land nearer than the heights of Palmacristi was to be seen. The horses and cattle must have perished. It had indeed become, as Uncle Adan had warned her, a greater flood than the country had ever known. To add to the unspeakable gloom of the scene, the clouds parted wider and allowed the moon to sparkle more fully upon the boiling water below and the trees and branches as they rolled and hastened onward.

As Agueda stood and gazed up the stream, suddenly, from out the perspective of the moon-flecked tide, a little craft came sailing down—a tiny thing that seemed to have been set upon the waste of waters by some pitying hand. She watched it with eager eyes, as it floated onward. Her body swayed unconsciously with each change in its course or pointing of its bow to right, to left, as if she feared that it would escape her anxious hand. Fate drifted it exactly across the thatch at the south end of the roof. On it came, and was driven to her very feet. Here was succour! Here was help! She could save herself, unwatched, unknown, of those others behind the shelter there, and float away to the chance of rescue. Agueda stepped ankle-deep in the water, and stooping, held in frenzied clutch this gift of the gods.

"The little duck boat of Felipe," she exclaimed, as she drew it toward her. "The little duck boat of Felipe!"

Beltran had arisen as he heard the boat grate against the roof. He stepped cautiously out from behind the chimney, Felisa leaning upon him. Agueda raised her eyes to them. She shook as if with a chill. She was drawing the boat nearer, and battling with the flood to keep her treasure in hand.

"Agueda," called Beltran. "Take her with you. Her weight is slight."

Felisa raised her head from his shoulder, and cast a terrified look about her. Beltran looked at Agueda, and then down at Felisa.

"She will save you," he said.

"I will not go without you, Beltran," sobbed Felisa. "I dare not go without you. Oh! come with me! That girl of yours, that Agueda, I dare not go with her! She hates me! She will kill me!"

When Beltran had said, "She will save you," Agueda had begun to draw the skiff nearer to him. She moved with great care, that the flood might not wrench from her this treasure trove.

"It is true that I hate you," said Agueda, in a hard, cold voice, as she brought the boat to Felisa's feet, "but I will not kill you." She pushed the tiny craft nearer to Felisa. "Take your place," said she. "I will hold it steady."

"I will not go without you," again shrieked Felisa, turning to Beltran. "I dare not go without you. Oh, Agueda! dear Agueda! You do not care to live. What have you to live for? While I—"

"True," said Agueda. "Will the SeÑorita take her place?"

Felisa still held to Beltran's hand.

"I will not go alone," she said. "Come with me, dear love! Come with me; I cannot live without you."

"There is not room for all," said Beltran, glancing, as he spoke, at Agueda. "At least, Felisa, we can die together."

Ever changeable, and suddenly angered at this, Felisa again struck at Beltran, and tried with her small strength to thrust him aside, so that his footing was imperilled. Agueda turned pale as she saw his danger. Beltran laughed nervously, and seized with firmer grasp the staple buried in the mortar.

"And do you think that will compensate me?" screamed Felisa. "Do you think that I shall welcome death because I may die in your company? I tell you, I will not die. I love all the pleasant things of life—I love myself, my pretty self. I am meant for life and love and warmth, not cold and death. There is not a human being who could reconcile me to death. Oh, my God! and such a death!"

Felisa screamed hysterically. She sobbed and choked, and amid her shrieks were heard the disjointed words, "I—will—not—die!"

In her frenzy the fastening at her throat gave way, and Agueda caught sight of the diamond pendant at her neck. Agueda, with her eyes on Beltran, nodded her head toward the boat, as if to say, "Do as she asks." When she spoke, she said:

"I will hold it steady, as steady as I can."

Felisa cast another horrified look around her upon the moonlit, shoreless sea.

"Oh, God!" she sobbed, as holding frantically to Beltran's hand, she stepped into the boat. She drew him toward her, so that he could with difficulty resist the impelling of her hand. Beltran tried to release his fingers from the grasp of Felisa. He turned to Agueda, and motioned toward the one hope of succour.

She shook her head.

"I cannot hold it long," she said.

"Beltran! Beltran!" sobbed Felisa.

The boat pulled and jerked like a race horse. Even Felisa's slight weight made a marked difference in its buoyancy.

Agueda's position was made the more unstable by her skirt, which fluttered in the wind.

"I can hold it but a second more," she said. She was still stooping, holding the boat in as firm a grasp as her footing would allow.

Beltran stood irresolute, wavering.

"I cannot leave you here, Agueda, to die perhaps—for—her—for me."

"I died long weeks ago," she muttered, more to herself than to him, and motioned again with her head toward the boat.

The water was rushing past them. It was ankle-deep now. Agueda steadied herself more firmly against the chimney.

Felisa, shivering with fright, stretched out her arms appealingly to Beltran, her cheeks streaming with tears. Beltran glanced at Agueda, with a look that was half beseeching, half apologetic, as if to forestall the contempt which he knew that she must feel for him, and—stepped into the boat. His weight tore it from Agueda's grasp. It began to float away, but before it had passed a span from where Agueda stood alone, he turned and shouted, "Come! Agueda, come! Throw yourself in, I can save you!"

Ah! that was all that she cared to hear. It was the old voice. It sank into her heart and gave her peace. For in that flash of sudden and overwhelming remorse which is stronger than death, Beltran had seen that which he had not noticed before, the sad change in her girlish figure. Felisa clung to him, threatening to upset the skiff. He thrust her from him. "Come!" again he shouted, "Come!" He stretched out his arms to Agueda, but as the words left his lips he was whirled from her presence.

In that supreme moment Beltran caught the motion of her lips. "My love!" they seemed to say, and still holding to the staple with one hand, she raised the other toward him, in good-by perhaps—perhaps in blessing.

Agueda kept her gaze fixed upon the little speck, shrinking involuntarily when she saw some great trunk endanger its buoyancy.

The boat was drifting swiftly along in the waters now, and in that mad rush to the sea Beltran strained his eyes ever backward to catch the faint motion of that fluttering garment in its wave of farewell.

PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLEY
AND SONS COMPANY AT THE
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.

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