Here: your hand." For a few minutes there was nothing heard but the rushing of the wind and the _splash, splash_ of the water, as they pressed on, the squire cautiously trying to keep one foot by the rut which had guided his son, and, when it became intangible, seeking for some other means to keep them from straying from the submerged road in the darkness, and going off to right or left into the bog.
It was a terrible walk, for they had a full mile to go; and to the squire's horror, he found that it was not only against the wind but also against the sharply running water, which was flowing in from the sea and growing deeper inch by inch.
As if to comfort each other father and son kept on making cheery remarks apropos of their rough journey.

Now it was Dick, who declared that the water felt warmer than the air; now it was the squire, who laughingly said that he should believe now in blind men being able to find their way by the touch.
"For I'm feeling my way along here famously, Dick." "Yes, father, only it seems such a long way--ugh!" "What is it, boy ?" "One foot went down deep.

Yes, I know where we are." "Yes, close home, my boy," cried the squire.
"No, no; half a mile away by the sharp turn, father; and I nearly went right down.

We must keep more this way." The squire drew his breath hard, for he knew his son was right, as the road proved when they turned almost at right angles and plashed on through the water.
Half a mile farther to go and the current rushing on! It had been only over their ankles, now it was above their knees, and both knew that at this rate it would be waist-deep, if not deeper, before they could reach the high ground at home.
"It is very horrible, Dick, my lad," cried the squire at last as they kept on, with the water steadily and surely growing deeper.
"Oh, I don't mind, father! We shall get on so far before it's over our heads that we shall be able to swim the rest of the way.

You can swim, father ?" "I used to, my lad; perhaps I have not forgotten how.