The creaking oars, under his experienced fingers, carried the boat far from the shadowy shore. Through the frequent lightning he could plainly see Myra in the stern, holding to the child. It was all ending differently from what he had hoped. That he had killed the gamekeeper he knew well, but, when Ezra Longman had disappeared into the Hoghole, Ben thought it took from the earth the only witness of his deed.
On and on through the night sped the boat, until Myra and Ben could see the lights on the college hill. Here and there in the valley beyond, the lightning revealed a farmhouse, the inmates of which were quietly sleeping.
Presently Ben spoke:
"What hes Ezy been a-sayin'?"
"Nothin' but that ye throwed him in the Hoghole, and tried to kill him, and that ye killed the gamekeeper."
"Where hes he been all this time?"
"I dunno. He air awful sick, and Ma put him to bed."
Their voices rose high above the shrieking of the wind. Myra's last words were screamed out. The boat tossed like a bit of tinder, but it was in the hands of a fisherman: Ben knew how to keep it in and out of the troughs of the waves. Once the boat lurched mightily, and Myra gave a frightened cry, wedging the child between her knees. Higher and higher rolled the waves.
"We hev got to bail the water out," yelled Ben. "Bail, Myry, while I rows."
The mother grasped the sleeping child tighter between her knees, and began to throw the water into the lake. Suddenly a great wave half filled the boat.