"I'm hungry," exclaimed Sir Arthur. "Isn't it about time for lunch?"
"Your suggestion is eminently proper, Sir Arthur," declared the colonel. "On a full stomach we shall travel faster, Chauncey. Do you concur with our views?"
Guy evidently did, for a supply of dates and crackers was forthwith produced, and while they were eating the canoe was permitted to remain stationary.
They started away in somewhat better spirits, Chutney in the bow keeping a sharp watch for danger ahead, while Sir Arthur held his torch from the stern, lighting the water for some yards around.
The dreary monotony of the journey was most trying. The shore presented an unbroken perpendicular wall of stone falling sheer to the water, damp and slimy with drippings, while overhead was empty space, a dome of vast height, to judge from the echo of their voices.
They paddled on and on, pausing occasionally to rest their weary arms, then dashing away with more vigor than ever. Not for an instant did they lose sight of the shore. It was their only guide. At last Sir Arthur's arm dropped feebly, and it was seen that he was half asleep. Canaris took the torch from his hand, and sinking into the bottom of the canoe, the ex-governor fell instantly into a deep slumber.
"I'm actually getting drowsy myself," confessed the colonel. "It must be night. Surely we ought to be halfway round the lake by this time."
Guy admitted that he, too, was beginning to grow sleepy, and as Forbes and Canaris alone professed to be as fresh as ever, it was decided that they should navigate the canoe for a time and allow the others an opportunity to rest.
Chutney and the colonel stretched themselves on the rugs and Melton paddled slowly forward, while Canaris held the torch from the stern.
Hours passed, and still they continued to follow the rocky shore amid silence, broken only by the swish of the paddle, for neither Forbes nor Canaris cared to converse.