n
comes."

She had turned, looking into the pit-gloom ahead of them, so dark that
the canoe seemed about to drive against a wall. Under its bow the water
gurgled like oil.

"We are entering the big cedar swamp," he explained. "It is like Blind
Man's Buff, isn't it? Can you see?"

"Not beyond the bow of the canoe, Roger."

"Work back to me," he said, "very carefully."

She came, obediently.

"Now turn slowly, so that you face the bow, and lean back with your
head against my knees."

This also, she did.

"This is much nicer," she whispered, nestling her head comfortably
against him. "So much nicer."

By leaning over until his back nearly cracked he was able to find her
lips in the darkness.

"I was thinking of the brush that overhangs the stream," he explained
when he had straightened himself. "Sitting up as you were it might have
caused you hurt."

There was a little silence between them, in which his paddle caught
again its slow and steady rhythm. Then,

"Were you thinking only of the brush, Roger--and of the hurt it might
cause me?"

"Yes, only of that," and he chuckled softly.

"Then I don't think it nice here at all," she complained. "I shall sit
up straight so the brush may put my eyes out!"

But her head pressed even closer against him, and careful not to
interrupt his paddle-stroke she touched his face for an instant with
her hand.

"It's there," she purled, as if utterly comforted. "I wanted to be
sure--it is so dark!"

With cimmerian blackness on all sides of them, and a chaotic tunnel
ahead, they were happy. Staring straight before him, though utterly
unable to see, McKay sensed in every movement he made and in every
breath he drew the exquisite thrill of a miracle. And the same thrill
swept into him and through him from the softly breathing body of Nada.
Light or darkness made no difference now. Together, inseparable from
this time forth, they had started on the one great adventure of their
lives, and for them fear had ceased to exist. The night sheltered them.
Its very blackness held in its embrace a warmth of welcome and of
unending hope. Twice in the next half hour he put his hand to Nada's
face, and each time she pressed her lips against it, sweet with that
confidence which so completely possessed her soul.

Very slowly they moved through the swamp, for because of the gloom his
paddle-strokes were exceedingly short, and he was feeling his way.
Frequently he ran into brush, or str