"How should I know?—Where he was for eight years, perhaps."
Presently they came to a species of canebrake, very dense and high; there was no green in sight, only the canes. The channel wound tortuously through the rattling mass, the slight motion of the water made by the canoe caused the canes to rattle.
"Keep watch, please," he said; "it's not so wet here. It wouldn't be amusing to set such a straw-stack on fire."
While they were making their way through this labyrinth, there came a crash of thunder.
"The storm at last, and we haven't heard the least sound of the tornado that came before it! That shows what a place this is," he said. "We might as well be in the heart of a mountain. Well, even if we do suffocate, at least we're safe from falling trees; if the lightning has struck one, it can't come down, wedged in as it is in that great tight roof overhead."
There came another crash. "I believe it grows hotter and hotter," he went on, throwing down his hat. "I am beginning to feel a little queer myself; I have to tell you, you know, in order that you may be able to act with—with discrimination, as Dr. Kirby would say."
She had turned quickly. "Do you feel faint?"
"Faint?" he answered, scoffingly. "Never in the world. Am I a woman? I feel perfectly well, and strong as an ox, only—I see double."
"Yes, that is the air of the swamp."
She took off the black lace scarf she was wearing, dipped it into the stream, and told him to bind it round his forehead above the eyes.