The last film of the fog was now dispelled by the powerful rays of the sun.
Birds sang in the trees above him, and from the black waters of the lagoon a huge caiman crawled up the banks to bask in the noontide glare.
Still Nelatu slumbered.
He slept until the meridian heat had passed, and the evening approached, seeming to lull all nature into silence.
The young man’s sleep was placid. With his head pillowed on his arm, he lay like one dead.
From this sweet unconsciousness he awoke with a start.
A rippling sound as of some craft cleaving the water, once more fell upon his ear.
Had the phantom canoe returned?
A glance answered the question.
Drifting near the shore was an empty dug-out.