"Then you can see it?"
"As well as ever."
The creek brought them to a waste that was open to the sky.
"Now we can breathe," he said; "I feel as though I should never want to be under a tree branch again!"
It was not very dark; there was a moon somewhere behind the gray clouds that closely covered the sky. The great storm had gone westward, carrying with it the tornado and the rain, and now a cool, moderate, New-England-feeling wind was beginning to blow.
Winthrop glanced back. The great trees of the Monnlungs loomed up in a long dark line against the sky; from the low level of the boat in the flat waste they looked like a line of mountains.
"All the same, you know," he said, contradictorily, "it was very beautiful in there."
The creek was wide; he went on rapidly. He was quite himself again. "You look fearfully worn," he said, after a while.
"Must we have all these torches now?" She spoke with irritation, she could not get away from their light.
"Not if you object to them." He extinguished all but one. "Now put on some of those wraps; it's cold."