The girl sat down, and looked about her. It was very still in the
bush, and the sound of running water drifted musically out of the
silence. From somewhere in the distance there also came a curious
drumming which she did not know then was made by an axe, but it
presently ceased, and the song of the river rose alone in long drowsy
pulsations. In front of and behind her stretched the rows of serried
trunks which had grown to vastness of girth and stateliness with the
centuries, and the girl, who was of quick perceptions, felt
instinctively the influence of their age and silence. There was, it
seemed, something intangible but existent in this still land of shadow
which reacted upon her pleasantly after the artificial gaieties and
glitter of surface civilization. Her impatience and irritation seemed
to melt, and the time slipped by, until she was almost drowsy when with
an increasing rattle another wagon came jolting down the trail.

Its driver pulled up, and regarded them with placid astonishment, but
he was amenable to the influence of Deringham's wallet, and they took
their places in the vehicle. There was nothing remarkable about the
man, and he ruminated gravely when as they stopped to let the horses
drink Deringham asked him a question concerning their late companion.

"It might have been Thomson," he said. "A big man, kind of solid and
homely?"

"No," said Miss Deringham reflectively. "I should scarcely describe
him as homely."

"Well," said the other, "if you told me the kind of wagon I might guess
at him."