"
"Of course they are, dear," he confessed apologetically. "I should have
known better. It was so dark I almost thought you had slipped away. The
boat I told you about must be close at hand."
"The boat; oh, yes, but it can be of no use to us now. Feel here with
your feet; I am sure this must be a path that I am in, and it can lead
nowhere except to that house you saw."
"Can you follow it?"
"I think so; it seems to go straight up through the ravine; see, you can
trace the bluff against the sky, and there is the opening just ahead of
us. You may take my arm again now," she added graciously, "and then there
will be no danger of either getting lost."
He gladly did as she suggested, yet, strangely enough, continued to feel
dissatisfied. Vaguely he felt that in some almost imperceptible manner
she had changed her mood. He could not base his thoughts on a single
word, or action, yet he felt the difference--this was not the Natalie of
the raft. She was too irritable; too sharp of speech. But then, no doubt,
she was tired, worn out, her nerves broken; indeed he found it hard to
control himself, and he must not blame her for exhibiting weakness under
the strain. So he drove the thought from him, clinging close to her arm,
and vaguely wondering how she was able to trace the path so easily. They
seemed to progress through an impenetrable wall of blackness, and yet the
way had been cleared of obstacles, and was reasonably smooth.
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