Just at this time Miss Martell was waging that pathetic war with her own heart which so many women must fight out in silence; and she welcomed eagerly any distraction of thought,—anything that would so weary the body that the mind could rest. She dreaded the long, monotonous ride home, and so warmly seconded the new plan that her father yielded, though somewhat against his judgment.
Through the little delays of a hospitality more cordial than kind, they were kept until the early December twilight was deepening into dusk. But the oarsman lighted his lantern, and was confident that he could put them across most speedily. The boat was stanch and well built, and they started with scarcely a misgiving, Miss Martell taking an oar with much zest. Their friends waved them off with numberless good wishes, and then from their windows watched till the boat seemed quite across, before drawing the curtains and concluding that all was well.
At first they did not meet much ice, and everything promised a safe and speedy passage; but, when they were well past the middle of the river, two dark masses were seen just before them. There appeared to be a wide opening between them, through which they could see the water ripple.
"I think we can shoot through," said the oarsman, standing up a moment; "perhaps it will be the safest course, for we don't know what's above."
"Very well," said Mr. Martell, "I will steer you as well as I can.
Pull strongly till we are again in clear water."
Miss Martell bent her supple form to the oar, and her strokes counted as well as those of the strong, practised man; and the boat sped, all too quickly, into what afterwards seemed the very jaws of destruction.
The opening narrowed instead of widening. The ice above, for some reason, appeared to gain on that below.
In growing alarm, Mr. Martell saw that they were becoming shut in, and pointed out the fact to the oarsman.
"Shall we turn around?" he asked, excitedly.
The man stood up again, and instantly decided.