nature, whirled round and broke into fantastically torn pieces,
disclosing the wrinkled surface of the river sparkling in the broad light
of day. Great flocks of white birds wheeled screaming above the swaying
tree-tops. The sun had risen on the east coast.

Dain was the first to return to the cares of everyday life. He rose and
glanced rapidly up and down the river. His eye detected Babalatchi's
boat astern, and another small black speck on the glittering water, which
was Taminah's canoe. He moved cautiously forward, and, kneeling, took up
a paddle; Nina at the stern took hers. They bent their bodies to the
work, throwing up the water at every stroke, and the small craft went
swiftly ahead, leaving a narrow wake fringed with a lace-like border of
white and gleaming foam. Without turning his head, Dain spoke.

"Somebody behind us, Nina. We must not let him gain. I think he is too
far to recognise us."

"Somebody before us also," panted out Nina, without ceasing to paddle.

"I think I know," rejoined Dain. "The sun shines over there, but I fancy
it is the girl Taminah. She comes down every morning to my brig to sell
cakes--stays often all day. It does not matter; steer more into the
bank; we must get under the bushes. My canoe is hidden not far from
here."

As he spoke his eyes watched the broad-leaved nipas which they were
brushing in their swift and silent course.

"Look out, Nina," he said at last; "there, where the water palms end and
the twigs hang down under the leaning tree. Steer for the big green