Already it had scattered masses of gravel on all sides, and down the hill a river was shooting in sheer cataract, raving and tearing, and carrying stones and rocks with it like foam.

Still and still it pulsed and rushed and ran, born, like another Xanthus, a river full-grown, from the heart of the mountain.
Suddenly Gibbie, in the midst of his astonishment and awful delight, noted the path of the new stream, and from his knowledge of the face of the mountain, perceived that its course was direct for the cottage.

Down the hill he shot after it, as if it were a wild beast that his fault had freed from its cage.

He was not terrified.

One believing like him in the perfect Love and perfect Will of a Father of men, as the fact of facts, fears nothing.