"Falmouth bells!—Falmouth bells!"
"Yes," says I, touched by the plaintive joy in her voice, "they are calling us. We must go." So the next morning we rowed over to the gap in the mountains to see if the waters were suitable for our departure yet awhile; and there we found a great bar of refuse brought down by the winter flood and no water flowing into the lake; nor was there sufficient depth to float our canoe. This proved to me that we ought to have gone the moment I saw the water sinking, but for shame I dared not admit the truth.
"In a few days," says I, "the plain will be dry, and we shall be able to march well enough to the Baraquan."
"We must leave our canoe behind us, musn't we, Benet?" says my lady quietly.
"Ay, but what of that?" says I, shortly; "can not we make another?"
"Yes," says she; but not a word of reproach passed her lips, though she must have seen that I was to blame not to have started while there was yet water to float us back to the river. And so we returned to the cave without a word, for I was in a despicably bad temper, because I knew I was in fault for not going when my conscience bade me. This ill-humor possessed me all day, though frequently my lady essayed to return to our customary free and cordial understanding; only when night came and I lay awake I felt remorse and grief for my wicked delay in the first place, and my foolish perversity after. "Fool," says I to myself bitterly, "not content with robbing your dear lady of freedom, you have marred a day she would have rendered happy. It may be the last she will ever care to lighten for you."
I could not rest for the torment of my self-reproach. Getting out of my net I went softly in the dark to her kitchen, and passed my hand over the things she was wont to use.
"Here," says I to myself, touching her dresser—"here have we stood side by side grinding our cassavy, mirthful and light-hearted. Why were we so happy and content? Because I had none but good intent towards her; because she was confident in me. Will she ever have faith in me again, knowing I have let slip her chance to escape? Can we ever more be happy together?"
Before daybreak I rowed over to the gap, and thence as soon as it was light I perceived that vast plain green as far as the eye could reach with the young shoots of reeds, laid bare by the further sinking of the water; but for some distance round and about the gap and extending by the hill, where the water had flowed in from the Baraquan, was a great bed of yellow mud, neither firm enough for the foot nor liquid enough for the canoe. Seeing, therefore, that no escape was possible until this mud grew hard (if ever it should), I went back very desolate to the cavern. And there was our morning meal spread on fair fresh leaves, which Lady Biddy employed for a table-cloth, and that dear creature waiting to greet me with a cheerful bright countenance, as if she had naught to reproach me with, though I marked a shade of anxiety beneath her sweet smile.
I told her where I had been, and, putting as good a face on it as well I could, added that we must wait a few days for the ground to harden ere we started again upon our journey. "But," thinks I, "'twill never harden, for surely from those hills there must dribble streams that flow into the lake; and here must my dear patient lady linger another whole year." And with this reflection, despite all my efforts to seem easy and hopeful, I fell into a despondent mood.