"Come on," said I, thoughtlessly, "any adventure that will cure you of conceit—you know that is my purpose here to-night."
Laughing at the remark, he led the way from the ball-room. I observed by Victor's eye and pale countenance, that he was chagrined at Estelle's treatment, and thought he was making an excuse to get out in the night air to cool his fevered passions.
"See," he said, when he descended, "there burns the torch of the Indian fishermen, far out on the lake—they are spearing salmon-trout—we will go see the sport."[2]
I looked out in the direction he indicated, and far away upon its glassy surface glimmered a single light, throwing its feeble ray in a bright line along the ice. The moon was down, and the broad expanse before us was wrapped in darkness, save this taper which shone through the clear, cold atmosphere.
"You are surely mad," said I, "to think of such an attempt."
"If the bare thought fills you with fear," he answered, "I have no desire for your company. The dance within, I see, is more to your mind."
Without regarding his sneer, I remarked that if he was disposed to play the madman, I was not afraid to become his keeper, it mattered not how far the fit took him.
"Come on, then," said he; and we started on our mad jaunt.
"Sam, have you a couple of saplings?" inquired Victor of the eldest negro boy.
"Yes, massa Victor, I got dem ar fixins; but what de lor you gemmen want wid such tings at de ball?"