the rattling mass, the slight motion of the water
made by the canoe caused the canes to rattle.

"Keep watch, please," he said; "it's not so wet here. It wouldn't be
amusing to set such a straw-stack on fire."

While they were making their way through this labyrinth, there came a
crash of thunder.

"The storm at last, and we haven't heard the least sound of the tornado
that came before it! That shows what a place this is," he said. "We
might as well be in the heart of a mountain. Well, even if we _do_
suffocate, at least we're safe from falling trees; if the lightning has
struck one, it can't come down, wedged in as it is in that great tight
roof overhead."

There came another crash. "I believe it grows hotter and hotter," he
went on, throwing down his hat. "I am beginning to feel a little queer
myself; I have to tell you, you know, in order that you may be able to
act with--with discrimination, as Dr. Kirby would say."

She had turned quickly. "Do you feel faint?"

"Faint?" he answered, scoffingly. "Never in the world. Am I a woman? I
feel perfectly well, and strong as an ox, only--I see double."

"Yes, that is the air of the swamp."

She took off the black lace scarf she was wearing, dipped it into the
stream, and told him to bind it round his forehead above the eyes.

"Nonsense!" he said, impatiently.

But she moved towards him, and kneeling on the canoe's bottom, bound the
lace tightly round his forehead herself, fastening it with her little
gold pin.

"I must look like a Turk," he exclaimed when she released him.

But the wet bandage cleared his vision; he could see plainly again.

After another five minutes, however, back came the blur. "Shall we ever
get out of this accursed hole?" he cried, pressing his hands on his
eyes.

"I can paddle a little; let me take the oar."

But he dashed more water on his head, and pushed her hands away. "Women
never know! It's much better for me to keep on. But you must direct
me,--say 'one stroke on the right,' 'two on the left,' and so on."

"Oh, why did I ever bring you in here?" she moaned, giving no directions
at all, but looking at his contracted eyes with the tears welling in her
own.

"See here, Margaret,--I really don't know what would happen if I should
put this oar down and--and let you pity me! I can tell you once. Now be
warned." He spoke with roughness.

Her tears were arrested. "Two strokes on the right," she said, quickly.

They went on their