“I can pull with my left hand,” he said, taking up an oar.
“And I,” replied Angela, “can pull the other oar. I know how to manage a boat. We must make for the big willow tree which dips down into the water across the marsh.”
By that time they could hear the trampling of many hoofs, the sound of voices, and the whinny of a horse.
“That’s my horse,” remarked Isabey, as the boat shot across the still, black water. “I hope Archie succeeded in hiding the saddle and bridle.”
“You may trust Archie to think and act quickly,” replied Angela. “Hadn’t you better lie down in the boat?” she continued anxiously, her voice sounding strange to herself in the darkness.
“No use; if the Federals see the boat at all they will certainly stop it, and I would rather be caught sitting up than lying down.”
Angela said no more, but bent to her oar to keep up with Isabey’s steady stroke. Ten minutes brought the boat to the farther edge of the marsh, where a huge willow, storm-beaten, bent toward the water which lapped its branches. It was in luxuriant leaf, and when, Isabey putting the branches aside, the boat glided in, they found themselves within a tent of branches and leaves, secure even at midday from observation. The oars were laid in the bottom of the boat but close at hand, and Angela and Isabey were alone in a world of their own under a murky night sky. The air had grown warm and sultry, and heat lightning played upon the mass of black clouds on the western horizon. Every moment the darkness increased and the night, like a great black bat, seemed to press with huge and stifling wings upon the earth. In the stillness of the darkness they could hear the trampling of hundreds of iron hoofs and the shouts and cries of men searching the house and grounds and garden. Through the overhanging willow branches lights could be seen flashing from window to window of the Harrowby house as the search for Isabey proceeded. It was so dark under the willow tree that they could not see each other’s face. The tide was high, but the pungent odor of the salt marsh filled the heavy night air. Afar off a night bird uttered an occasional melancholy note, but that alone broke the silence which encompassed them.
“Are you frightened?” asked Isabey, in a low voice.
“Not in the least,” replied Angela, in the same subdued tone. “Oh!” As she spoke there was a phosphorescent gleam close to the boat and a water-snake’s body was seen to writhe quickly past. Angela, who could face real danger unflinchingly, was full of feminine fears. She clasped her hands and shrank, panting, toward Isabey. He restrained the impulse to put his arm around her, but he involuntarily laid his hand on hers and said:
“It is nothing. I can keep all ugly things away from you to-night.”