ion, which seemed absurd. He shook his head
resolutely and then searched through the gloom to discover what eyes
might be shining in it. He saw the inevitable government lights between
which was deep water and a safe channel. He had but to keep on the line
between the lights, cutting across when he spied another one far ahead.
The lights but accentuated the certainty that on all sides, but a little
way from him, a host of invisible beings speculated on his presence and
influenced his course.

A newspaper man of much experience could not help but protest in
his practical mind against such a determination of the invisible
and the unknown to give him such nonsensical ideas. He had in play,
in intellectual persiflage, and with some show of traditional
reasonableness, called Nelia Crele "a river goddess." She was very
well placed in his mind--a reckless woman, pretty, with a fine
character for a masterpiece of fiction (should he ever get to the
story-writing stage) and a delight to think about; commanding, too,
mysterious and exacting; and now he thought it might be the
laughter of her voice that carried in the wind, not a mocking
laugh, nor a jeering one, but one of sweet encouragement which
neither distance nor circumstances could dismiss from a distressed
and reluctant heart, let alone a heart so willing to receive as
his.

Lester Terabon accepted the possibility of river lore and proclaimed
beliefs. Fishermen, store-boaters, trippers, pirates, and all sorts of
the shanty-boaters whom he had interviewed on his way down had solemnly
assured him that there were spirits who promenaded down mid-stream, and
who sometimes could be seen.

Terabon was sorry when his cool, calculating mind refused to believe his
eyes, which saw shapes; his flesh, which felt creeps; his ears, which
heard voices; and his nostrils, which caught a whiff of a faint, sweet
perfume more exquisite than any which he remembered. He knew that when
he had kissed the river goddess whose eyes were blue, whose flesh was
fair, whose grace was lovely, he had tasted that nectar and sniffed that
ambrosia. He wondered if she were near him, watching to see whether he
performed well the task which she had set for him, the rescue of the
husband who had forfeited her love, and yet who still was under her
protection since in his indignant sorrow he had supposed himself capable
of finding and retaining her.

Terabon would have liked nothing better than to believe what