and had left her unhappier than ever....

Would the day never come? She pulled the rugs up closer about her as
the morning chill made her shiver. She found herself keeping
mechanical count with the sound of the sweeps--they must be making
good speed, she thought, and the camp must be miles behind now. Had
it been earlier in the season, when the river ran full of drift,
they never could have gone thus in the dark, but the water was low
and the chances of collision so remote as to render blind travel
safe. Even yet she could not distinguish her oarsman, except as a
black bulk, for it had been a lowering night and the approaching
dawn failed to break through the blanket of cloud that hung above
the great valley. He was a good boatman, however, as she gathered
from the tireless regularity of his strokes. He was a silent man,
too, and she was grateful for that. She snuggled down into her
blanket and tried to sleep, but she only dozed for a minute, it
seemed, to find her eyes fly wide open again. So, restless and tired
of her lonely vigil, she gave a premonitory cough, and said to her
companion:

"You must be tired rowing so steadily?"

"Oh, I don't mind it," he replied.

At the sound of his voice she sat bolt upright. It couldn't be--if
this were Runnion he would have spoken before! She ventured again,
tremulously:

"Have you any idea what time it is?"