een coiling on the bottom
much as the great vines coiled in the air above. These gray-white bald
cypresses had a monumental aspect, like the columns of a Gothic
cathedral, as they rose, erect and branchless, disappearing above in the
mist of the moss. The moss presently began to take on an additional
witchery by becoming decked with flowers; up to a certain height these
flowers had their roots in the earth; but above these were other
blossoms--air-plants, some vividly tinted, flaring, and gaping, others
so small and so flat on the moss that they were like the embroidered
flowers on lace, only they were done in colors.

"I detest this moss," said Margaret, as it grew thicker and thicker, so
that there was nothing to be seen but the silver webs; "I feel strangled
in it,--suffocated."

"Oh, but it's beautiful," said Winthrop. "Don't you see the colors it
takes on? Gray, then silver, then almost pink as we pass; then gray and
ghostly again."

For all answer she called her husband's name. She had called it in this
way at intervals ever since they entered the swamp.

"The light we carry penetrates much farther than your voice," Winthrop
remarked.

"I want him to know who it is."

"Oh, he'll know--such a devoted wife! Who else could it be?"

After a while the lane made a bend, and led them away from the moss; the
canoe, turning to the right, left behind it the veiled forest, white and
motionless. Margaret drew a long breath, she shook herself slightly,
like a person who has emerged.

"You have on your jewels again," he said, as the movement caused the
torch-light to draw a gleam from something in her hair.

She put up her hand as if she had forgotten what was there. "Jewels?
Only a gold arrow." She adjusted it mechanically.

"Jewels enough on your hands, then. You didn't honor _us_ with a sight
of them--while you were at East Angels, I mean."

"I don't care for them; I put them on this morning before I started,
because Lanse likes them."

"So do I. Unwillingly, you also please me; of course I never dreamed
that I should have so much time to admire them--parading by torch-light
in this way through a great morass."

She did not answer.

"They bring you out, you know, in spite of yourself--drag you out, if
you like better; they show what you might be, if you would ever--let
yourself go."

"Let myself go? You use strange expressions."

"A man isn't responsible for what he says in here."

"You say that a seco