anchored at the base of the rocks where Wells had seen her.

And now what disappointment! I might even say, what despair! All our
efforts gone for nothing! Even if the "Terror" was still upon the
lake, to find her, reach her and capture her, was beyond our power,
and it might as well be fully recognized beyond all human power.

We stood there, Wells and I, completely crushed, while John Hart and
Nab Walker, no less chagrined, went tramping along the banks of the
Creek, seeking any trace that had been left behind.

Posted there, at the mouth of the Creek, Wells and I exchanged
scarcely a word. What need was there of words to enable us to
understand each other! After our eagerness and our despair, we were
now exhausted. Defeated in our well-planned attempt, we felt as
unwilling to abandon our campaign, as we were unable to continue it.

Nearly an hour slipped by. We could not resolve to leave the place.
Our eyes still sought to pierce the night. Sometimes a glimmer, due
to the sparkle of the waters, trembled on the surface of the lake.
Then it vanished, and with it the foolish hope that it had roused.
Sometimes again, we thought we saw a shadow outlined against the
dark, the silhouette of an approaching boat. Yet again some eddies
would swirl up at our feet, as if the Creek had been stirred within
its depths. These vain imaginings were dissipated one after the
other. They were but the illusions raised by our strained fancies.

At length our companions rejoined us. My first question was, "Nothing
new?"