to the old mud road, and came to a place of which I had no previous
knowledge--a place of outer darkness and chattering teeth.

We met no more teams, saw no more lights, but seemed to be in an utterly
uninhabited country. Then, after an hour of wearisome jolting and
plunging, we discovered that the darkness had not been total, for the
line of the horizon had been visible, but now it was swallowed up. We
knew we were in a wood, by the rush of the wind amid the dried white oak
leaves--knew that the road grew rougher at every step--that our driver
became more nervous as he applied the brake, and we went down, down.

Still the descent grew steeper. We stopped, and Father Olever felt for
the bank with his whip to be sure we were on the road. Then we heard the
sound of rushing, angry waters, mingled with the roar of the wind, and
he seemed to hesitate about going on, but we could not very well stay
there, and he once more put his horses in motion, while we held fast and
prayed silently to the great Deliverer. After stopping again and
feeling for the bank, lest we should go over the precipitous hillside,
which he knew was there, he proceeded until, with a great plunge, we
were in the angry waters, which arose to the wagon-bed, and roared and
surged all around us. The horses tried to go on, when something gave
way, and our guardian concluded further progress was impossible, and
began to hallo at the top of his voice.

For a long time there was no response; then came an answering call from
a long distance. Next a light appeared, and that, too, was far away, but
came toward us. When it reached the brink of the water, and two men with
it, we felt safe. The light-bearer held it up so that we saw him quite
well, and his peculiar appearance suited his surroundings. He was more
an overgrown boy than a man, beardless, with a long swarthy face, black