n from penetrating to the water, the masses of vines shut out
still further the light, and shut in the perfumes of the myriad flowers.
Channels opened out on all sides. Only one was the right one. Should she
be able to follow it? the landmarks she knew--certain banks of shrubs, a
tree trunk of peculiar shape, a sharp bend, a small bay full of
"knees"--should she know these again by night? There came to her
suddenly the memory of a little arena--an arena where the flowering
vines hung straight down from the tree-tops to the water all round, like
tapestry, and where the perfumes were densely thick.

"Are you cold?" said Winthrop. "You can't be--this warm night." The
slightness of the canoe had betrayed what he thought was a shiver.

"No, I'm not cold."

"The best thing we can do is to make the boat as bright as possible," he
went on. "But not in front, that would only be blinding; the light must
be behind us." He took the torch from the bow, lighted three others, and
stack them all into the canoe's lining of thin strips of wood at the
stern. Primus had made his torches long; it would be an hour before they
could burn down sufficiently to endanger the boat.

Thus, casting a brilliant orange-hued glow round them, lighting up the
dark water vistas to the right and left, as they passed, they penetrated
into the dim sweet swamp.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

They had been in the Monnlungs half an hour. Margaret acted as pilot;
half kneeling, half sitting at the bow, one hand on the canoe's edge,
her face turned forward, she gave her directions slowly, all her powers
concentrated upon recalling correctly and keeping unmixed from present
impressions her memory of the channel.

The present impressions were indeed so strange, that a strong exertion
of will was necessary to prevent the mind from becoming fascinated by
them, from forgetting in this series of magic pictures the different
aspect of these same vistas by day. Even by day the vistas were
alluring. By night, lighted up by the flare of the approaching torches,
at first vaguely, then brilliantly, then vanishing into darkness again
behind, they became unearthly, exceeding in contrasts of color--reds,
yellows, and green, all of them edged sharply with the profoundest
gloom--the most striking effects of the painters who have devoted their
lives to reproducing light and shade.

Lanse had explored a part of the Monnlungs. He had not explored it all,
no human eye had as yet