As the sun descended in the western sky, and the magnificent American twilight gathered upon the forest and river, the excited Hans Vanderbum could scarcely conceal his impatience and anxiety. Never before, since his marriage, had he been in such a predicament, and never again, he hoped, would he feel the misery that was now torturing him. Time always passes wearily to the watcher. It seemed an age to him ere the sun slipped down behind the wilderness out of sight. At length, however, the dusk of early evening enveloped the lodge, and shortly after Quanonshet and Madokawandock came in, and dropping down fell almost immediately asleep.
To expedite matters, Hans Vanderbum feigned slumber, but he kept one eye upon the movements of his wife. He marked her listless, absent air, and he could scarcely conceal his joy when she stretched herself in front of the door, without speaking or ordering him to lie beside her, as was her usual custom. Five minutes later, she was as unconscious as though she were never to wake again. To make "assurance doubly sure," he waited full half an hour without moving. Then he raised his head, and called in a whisper to Miss Prescott:
"I say dere."
"Well! what is it?" she responded, rising.
"You ishn't ashleep bees you?"
"No, I am ready."
"Well, I guesses it bees purty near times."
"Are they all sound asleep—your Lily and children?"
"Yaw, dey's won't wake if you pound 'em."
"Would it not be best to take a look outside and see whether there is any danger of our being discovered?"