And then something drove pitilessly against her body, and she flung out one arm, holding Peter close with the other--and caught hold of a bit of stub that protruded like a handle from the black and slippery log the flood-water had brought down upon her.
"We're all right, Peter," she cried, even in that moment when she knew she had lost.

"We're all ri--" And then suddenly the bright glory of her head went down, and with her went Peter, still held to her breast under the sweeping rush of the flood.
Even then it was thought of Peter that filled her brain.

Somehow she was not afraid.

She was not terrified, as she had often been of the flood-rush of waters that smashed down the creeks in springtime.

An inundating roar was over her, under her, and all about her; it beat in a hissing thunder against the drums of her ears, yet it did not frighten her as she had sometimes been frightened.