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           Iwasneverwarm;myteethchatteredinmyhead;Iwastroubledwithaverysorethroat,suchasIhadontheisle;Ihadapainfulstitchinmyside,whichneverleftme;andwhenIsleptinmywetbed,withtherainbeatingaboveandthemudoozingbelowme,itwastoliveoveragaininfancytheworstpartofmyadventures—toseethetowerofShawslitbylightning,Ransomecarriedbelowonthemen’sbacks,Shuandyingontheround-housefloor,orColinCampbellgraspingatthebosomofhiscoat.Fromsuchbrokenslumbers,Iwouldbearousedinthegloaming,tositupinthesamepuddlewhereIhadslept,andsupcolddrammach;theraindrivingsharpinmyfaceorrunningdownmybackinicytrickles;themistenfoldinguslikeasinagloomychamber—or,perhaps,ifthewindblew,fallingsuddenlyapartandshowingusthegulfofsomedarkvalleywherethestreamswerecryingaloud.

           Thesoundofaninfinitenumberofriverscameupfromallround.Inthissteadyrainthespringsofthemountainwerebrokenup;everyglengushedwaterlikeacistern;everystreamwasinhighspate,andhadfilledandoverfloweditschannel.Duringournighttramps,itwassolemntohearthevoiceofthembelowinthevalleys,nowboominglikethunder,nowwithanangrycry.IcouldwellunderstandthestoryoftheWaterKelpie,thatdemonofthestreams,whoisfabledtokeepwailingandroaringattheforduntilthecomingofthedoomedtraveller.