through the ten or fifteen miles of the dead forest a little snorting
steamboat passed, bearing market produce and passengers. The smoke of
its funnel had blasted all sense of the weird picturesqueness of the
place in the minds of the inhabitants, that is, they were accustomed to
it, and sentiment in most hearts is slowly killed by use and wont, as
this forest had been killed by the encroaching water. Ann Markham's was
not a mind which harboured very much sentiment at that period of her
life; it was a keen, quick-witted, practical mind. She was not afraid
of the solitude of the night, or of the strange shapes and lights and
shadows about her. Now that she knew for certain that she was alone and
unpursued, she was for the time quite satisfied.

A mile more down the windings of the lake, and Ann began counting the
trees between certain landmarks. Then into an opening between the trees
which could not have been observed by a casual glance she steered her
boat, and worked it on into a little open passage-way among their
trunks. The way widened as she followed it, and then closed again. Where
the passage ended, one great tree had fallen, and its trunk with
upturned branches was lying, wedged between two standing trunks, in an
almost horizontal position. On it a man was sitting, a wild, miserable
figure of a man, who looked as if he might have been some savage being
who was at home there, but who spoke in a language too vicious and
profane for any savage.

He leaned out from his branch as far as he dared, and welcomed the girl
with curses because she had not come sooner, because it was now the
small hours of the night and he had expected her in the evening.

"Be quiet, father," said the girl; "what's the use of talking like
that!" Then she held the boat under the tree and helped him to slip down