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The rain was falling heavily and in gusts and through it he looked about at the small cabins standing dreary in their dismantled fields. Marie Louise’s was the nearest at hand and towards it he directed his steps.
Hosmer declined the good Marie Louise’s kind proffer of coffee, but he seated himself and waited for Fanny to speak. “You know if you want a thing done in this place, you’ve got to do it yourself. I’ve heard you say it myself, time and time again about those people at the mill,” she said. “Could it have been so urgent as to call you out on a day like this, and with such a perilous crossing?
The red turbid stream was eddying and bulging and hurrying with terrific swiftness between its shallow banks, striking with an immensity of power against the projection of land on which stood Marie Louise’s cabin, and rebounding in great circling waves that spread and lost themselves in the seething turmoil.
When she reached Marie Louise’s cabin again, twilight, which is so brief in the South, was giving place to the night. Within the cabin, the lamp had already been lighted, and Marie Louise was growing restless at Thérèse’s long delay.
Almost on the instant of the woman’s cry, was heard a shrill, piercing, feminine scream. What they saw was the section of land on which stood Marie Louise’s cabin, undermined broken away from the main body and gradually gliding into the water.
“M’sieur look lak he not please,” said Marie Louise, with plain regret at the turn of affairs. “You see he no lak you go out in dat kine wedder, me know dat.” “Oh, bother,” was Fanny’s careless reply. “This suits me well enough; I don’t care how long it lasts.” She was in Marie Louise’s big rocker, balancing comfortably back and forth with a swing that had become automatic.
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